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TWELVE MILES FUOM A LEMON. 



By GAIL HAMILTON, , ..-..J^- . 

AIJTIIOK OK 
WOMAN'h WOKTll ANIJ WOJCTHLJiH.SNEHH," " LITTLE FOLK LIFE," ETC. 



' / (t-t CjLd'V', 




397^3^ 



NEW YORK: / 
II A III' Eli & lilimilKIiS, PUBLISHERS, 

V It A N K L I N 8 Q U A U K 

1 8 74. 






By GAIL HAMILTON. 



Gail Hamilton exhibits a singular intellectual versatility, nimbly bounding from an exuberant and 
almost rollicking play of humor to the most serious and impressive appeals. Her gayety at times is as 
frisky and droll as that of the harlequin of the comic drama ; while in the graver, but perhaps not really 
more earnest passages of the work, the language often rises to a calm eloquence in which reason is too 
predominant for the display of passion. — iV. Y. Tribune, 



WOMAN'S WORTH AND WORTHLESSNESS : the Comple- 
ment to "a New Atmosphere." i2mo, Cloth, ^i 50. 

LITTLE FOLK LIFE. A Book for Girls. i6mo, Cloth, 90 cents. 

TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. i2mo, Cloth, $1 50. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Harper & Brothers 7uill send either of the aloz<e ivorks by viail, fostage 
prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. 



V 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

Harper & Brothers, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

I. Twelve Miles from a Lemon 7 

II. Lemon-Drops 21 

III. Hemlock Poison 33 

IV. The Wonders and Wisdom of Ccayentry 44 

V. Science^ Pure and Practical 80 

VI. American Inventions 94 

VII. The Pleasures of Poverty 113 

VIII To Tudiz ly Railroad 124 

IX. The Higher Laws of Railroads 185 

X Holidays 159 

XL Conference Wrong Side Out 185 

XII. Country Character 203 

XIII. Autumn Voices 229 

XIV. On Social Formula and Social Freedom 246 

XV. The Fashions 208 

XVL Sleej) and Sichiess 290 

XVII. Dinners 303 



TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 



TWELVE MILES EJW3I A LEMON. 

Whex Sydney Smith declared merrily that his living 
in Yorkshire was so far out of the way, that it was act- 
ually twelve miles from a lemon, all the world laughed. 
But the world little knows — the great, selfindulgent 
world, that dearly loves comfort and ease and pleasure, 
coolness in August and warmth in November — what it 
is to live twelve miles from a lemon. A lemon means 
ice and a market, all good things in their season, and all 
men eager to wait upon you. 

You have been stajnng in Lemon, let us say, for 
months, preying upon j'^our betters. You have become 
thoroughly demoralized by the delights of the lilies, 
toiling not, nor spinning, and taking no thought for the 
morrow. But the whirligig of time has brought about 
its revenges. Your betters, finding no other way to dis- 
embarrass themselves of you, liave shut up their city 
house and gone, and j^ou must go too, and take thought 
for the morrow, or be stranded on a desert island. As 
you are borne rapidly homeward j^ou try to return once 
more to practical life, and make an intense mental effort 



8 TWHi.VK Mii.i:s Fi:oM .1 i.i:mo\. 

to concontralo your thoughts, ami ronioinbcr what yow 
liavo had lor luvaktasl tlio last I'om- inonllis. ProsiMitly 
you ohanco upou a ora(.'kiM'-})(.HldKM'. Crackers luako a 
i;xhhI jKHlostal lor your wandoriiig gods to alight on, and 
you buy a box. 

'• Do'you go as far as The Old Kliu ?" 

"Oh yes/' 

"Leave this box of crackers, then, in licicest(>r Ooiin- 
ty, oil tho old 8tagc road, right hand side, low green 
house in a hollow, on tho door-step. Never nund if tho 
house seems closed. Ijoavc them all the same.'' 

^'lUi resume your ]\)urney with a light heart. To- 
morrow shall take thought lor the things ol' itself. One 
need never starve with a dozen pounds of crackers on 
the door-step. 

Another stage of roar and rush, and dust and cinders, 
and the traiit leaves you atyour own station. IT^nexpect- 
ed, you are unawaited. Importunate haekmen know 
on which side their bread is buttered, and never stroll 
twelve miles from a lemon ; so you leave your luggage, 
anil walk, not reluctant, along the lovely path that was 
never so lovely as now — a deejt, hard, straggling Ibot- 
l^ath, half hidden in the raidv grass, green and dense 
nnder the gnarled old apple-trees. Tlie slant sun, the 
ruddy sky, the bright, still, rich earth, alive with color, 
abloom with liirht, all the broad fields laughing with 
ripening harvests, all the birds nunl with joy, and no 
war nor battle sound in all our borders— oh, the beau- 
tiful, beloved country ! 

Hut the pump will not go. Certainly not. A re- 
fractory and unprincipled pump iVom the beginning; 



rWKIA'h: MILKS I'llOM A LKMON. {) 

;ui(i hcfoic I li.'ivo sli.'ikcri fVfjrri my feet llic (]ukI (jf 
travel 1 inusl uiiso ;ui(l dcpiul, a;^iiii, lor Iwclvo rnilcH 
fVfjin a Icrrujti incaiis (ifUicn jnilcs i'i(Hii a j)Iuni}j(;r. 

JMo moi'u will \\\('. lariipH Ijurii. In oik; tin; wick' lo 
fuscs to budge a liair-l^icadtli iij) or (hwii. In tin; (oili- 
er it will go tlowii, ];uL not \\\). C^f" a third the cliini- 
ri(!y Ih broken. A fourth ha.s lost the c(;rn(;nt bet,we(;n 
glolje and pedestal, and eants alarmingly. A fiflli dro[)H 
the wiek, flame and all, down into the oil, as soon as it 
is lightecJ, and seares us out of oiii- wits, 'J'here is one 
evening of a stray candle; or two, and a horror of groat 
darkness, and tiieri another journey for a fresh Kupf)ly. 
For ten miles from a lemon is twenty miles from a lamp. 

The crackers come to tinie, the bread rises bravely, 
but my soul longeth for meat. 'J'liis township swarms 
witli Ijulehcrs. " Maloru;, we will liavc some chickens. 
No, a tenderloin sleak. J*ut out the sign." 'J'he sign 
is a crimson scarf tied around a post. "I put it out 
this morning," says Malone, "and he did not stop," 
" Put it out again to-morrow morning, and we will keej) 
watch besides," I wake early, gnawed )>y many cares, 
I wonder if the bread lias risen. Will Malone over- 
sleep, and forget it, past the jjroper point. If that were 
off my mind I think I eould go to sleep again. I creep 
softly down stairs and strike a bee-line for tlie bread- 
pan, and Malone, who has also crejjt softly down Iier 
stairs for the same; [jurpose, utters a little shiiek. I 
withdraw, but not to slee[). AVe must liave eggs. There 
is nothing to be done in the way of housekeeping with- 
out eggs. PerliajiS Malone; can get some at the milk- 
man's. 7 will liear her when slie goes out, and tell her. 

1* 



10 TWKLVK MlLi:s Fi;OM A l.KMOX. 

No; 1 will toll her now, niul llioii it w\\\ be oil' my mind, 
nnd I t^liall go to ylocj>. " JMalono," 1 call softly down 
the stall's, ''try if the milkman has any eggs; and iT he 
lias, boil them for breakfast, ami make a custard for 
dinner." 

It is an hour before butcher-time, and I shall have a, 
cozy naj). If I had only thought to buy some oat-meal 
ill the lemon, ^rwelve miles away we get no nearer to 
it than oats. There is a rumble of wheels. It can not 
be the butcher. If it should be, and we lose our dinner 
to-day as we did yesterday ! 1 may as well jump up 
and look, as thoroughly awake myself by fretting about 
it. it is not the butcher; but oh ! it is the good-butter 
man ; and 1 m-ust stop him. at all costs; and ^[alone is 
gone for the milk; and oh! where is a wrapper? and 
what has become of my slippers? He is stone-deaf. 
Would he were also stone-blind ! 1 Icrc is a water-proof 
cloak. Will he think thoy wear water-proof morning 
dresses in lemons? Oh, joy ! there is Malone coining. 
Thank Heaven, she is not deaf. " JSIaloiie !" with a deaf- 
ening shriek, if any one could hear it; but the advan- 
tage of being twelve miles from a lemon is that you can 
do your marketing iVoin the chamber windows and no- 
body the wiser — "^ralone! stop the butter-man, and 
engage butter for the season." ^Malone rushes up to 
him like a freebooter, and 1 am hajipy. 

Only casting about in my mind whether ^[alone put 
the eucumbor in wafer — the cucumber which jrrew in 

O 

Quincy Market, and which I had just room for in my 
lamp-journey — to be roused by her voice again. '' What 
is it, ISfalone?" 



T\VKLVJ<J MILKS FROM A LEMON. H 

"The milkman hadn't any eggs." Of course he liad 
not. liens do not lay eggs in tiie country. Kggs ai'o 
laid in lemons, and you must go twelve miles to get 
them. 

"Perhaps Mr. Meiggs has some." 

"No. 1 went there Monday and got ten — all he had." 

" Suppose you try the Briarses." 

" I was there yesterday, and they only had a few that 
had been sot on." 

"Very well. I am going to bed, Malone. Do the 
bcsb you can without them." 

I have not begun to doze, I do not expect so much 
as that — only a little quiet, preparatory to the day's 
campaign ; but there is a rattle of wheels in the dis- 
tance. It is early, but it sounds like the butcher's cart. 
It is the butchers cart. Intrenched ngain in the wat(M'- 
proof, I fling up the sash ready to pounce upon him. 
"Butcher!" trying to soften a yell into a decorous call. 

He turns neither to the right hand nor to the left. 
This will never do. Courage. 

'' Butcher r 

lie gives no sign. He is going by. I am desperate. 
I fling decorum to the winds. 

"Butch-E-iMMi!" 

lie does not hear the word, but the prolonged shriek 
pierces his car. He stops. The household is aroused, 
and not exactly comprehending the situation, but 
each feeling a responsibility for the dinner, Isabel en- 
sues. 

"Have you any tenderloin?" I cry. 

Malone does not hear me from her wash-tub below, 



12 TWELVE 2IILES FROM A LEMON. 

but she sees the butcher, and, feeling the whole care on 
lier own shoulders, cries, in a voice to wake the dead, 

"We want some — tenderloin P^ 

Simultaneously, Spitzbcrgen flings up another win- 
dow, and entirely on her own account, calls vociferous- 
ly for a "steak of tenderloin P^ And even Tranquilla 
feels the necessity of action, and from the depths of the 
bed-clothes sends forth a mufilod shriek for " tenderloin P'' 
Thus suddenly, out of jirofound silence, the house re- 
sounds from turret to foundation-stone with the clangor 
of tenderloin, and the bewildered butcher stares blankly 
and can make out nothing for the hullaballqo. There 
is a short ])ause of exhaustion and experiment. I infer 
that the others have become, somehow, aware of the 
posture of affairs, and, taking advantage of the lull, be- 
gin to put my inquiry in a decent and Christian man- 
ner — to find that they have all arrived at thp same con- 
clusion, and are piping forth again a chaos of tender- 
loin ; but Malone holds the key of the situation, march- 
es to the front, extricates both butcher and tenderloin, 
and comes back brandishing her beefsteak triumphant. 
Whereupon the house subsides into its normal silence. 

City folk undoubtedly believe that early vegetables 
spring from the soil, but we country dwellers know 
better. We look abroad upon the earth, and see the 
wide stretch of field and sky, and the ever-shifting pan- 
orama of the clouds, and the stately pomp of the sun 
on his daily march, and know perfectly well that it was 
all made to look at, and a good enough end is that. 
But when we want any thing to eat, we take a basket 
and go by rail twelve miles to the lemon. And it is 



TWELVJiJ iMILES FROM A LEMON. 13 

not convenient. The country is perfect, if man could 
live by bread and meat alone, but he can not. lie 
wants butter also, and fresh eggs, and early pease, and 
beets, and, lettuce, and above all, ice — the art preserva- 
tive of all arts. 

If you lived in Calcutta you could have ice in galore. 
All the ships that go sailing over the sea would fetch 
you ice, and the carts would cart it to your door, and 
the vendor would clench it into your cellar, and you 
would be cool even under the India sun of an India 
summer through the well-kept cold of an American 
winter. But if you lived on the shores of the Polar 
Sea you might whistle for ice. Trade, unlike charity, 
does not begin at home. If you will buy by the ship- 
load you shall be served, but there is no lens strong 
enough to make the ice-king see your one little refrig- 
erator. "We only deal by wholesale," says my lord. 
And when you resort to some small German principal- 
ity in the ice realm, whose traffic must perforce be retail, 
the man inquires your whereabouts and measures 3'our 
distances, and is afi'aid it is too far off for him to get 
home in season to load, and perhaps his employer will 
not permit it, but he will see. So he sees and comes, 
and we are all servant of servants unto this brother of 
ours that he be not hindered. " Malone, there is the 
ice-man! Run quick and open the cellar doors! Spitz- 
bergen, fetch a bucket of water to rinse the ice ! Tran- 
quilla, is there a blueberry pie extant? Bring a knife 
and fork quick, and a plate." And we strive to melt 
his icy sympathy with smiles and bland words and 
toothsome repast, that he may cut and come again, 



14 TWEL VE MILES FJ^OJf A LEMOX. 

■which he docs ''unbeknownst'' (as the good President 
used to say) to his employer; imd wo. harden our liearts 
and sear our consciences; and serve up n, triangle of 
blueberry pie every other day, and say that his relations 
between himself and his employer are no affair of ours. 
Every man has his price. Let Qvcry housekeeper have 
her ice. Heaven forbid that a morsel of pie or cake or 
custard should stand between us and comfort — not to 
say health and economy. 

Till another king arises who knows not Joseph, and 
will not even come within the sphere of our blandish- 
ments. For you can not bribe a man in open day on 
the king's highway, saying unto him, "Smuggle a lump 
of ice into my refrigerator three times a week, and I 
will not only pay your master full price, but will give 
you a lunch besides."' So your fountain of ice fails, 
and you must henceforth live from hand to mouth. 

That is the difiercnce between living in a lemon and 
living twelve miles away from it. In the fii-st ease you 
are besought to buy. In the second you beseech others 
to sell. 

"Why do you not raise things for yourself, and be 
independent of butchers and bakers and butter-makers?" 
asks the astute and inexperienced Lcmonite. 

" Raise tilings ! "What, for instance ?" 

"Eggs, then, to begin with." 

Because eggs are no sooner hatched than all the forces 
of nature rise up together to destroy them. Hatched, 
do I say? Before they are hatched the foe comes. 
While they are yet eggs the cats smell them out and 
suck them. When thev have broken shell and become 



TWELVE MILES FliOM A LEMON. 15 

chickens, the first thing they do is to get lost. If there 
is a bit of lute snow it shall go hard but they will roam 
around till they find it, and then they will stand still 
on it and shiver and die. If there is one grass-plot 
deeper and thicker and wetter than another, they will 
make a rush for that — anywhere so they can shiver 
and die. Then the hawks come down from the sky, 
and the skunks come up from the swamps, and the 
weasels come out of the woods, and the minks and the 
foxes and the woodchucks from their holes among the 
rocks, and make a dead set at the chickens. In vain 
the mother hen clucks alarm and hate. A hawk swoops 
down into your very door-yard and bears away a strug- 
gling chick in his talons. Now that the horse is stolen 
we will lock the stable-door. "Tranquilln, take your 
book into the piazza and keep watch." "A hawk! a 
hawk !" cries Tranquilla presently, in wild excitement, 
and we rush to the door with immense hootings and 
bowlings, but no hawk is visible. The happy hen is 
peacefully brooding her young and gives no sign. "It 
must have been a mistake," you sa}^, quite out of breath. 
" No, it was no mistake," exclaims Tranquilla. " It was 
a hawk ; I saw him plainly; and he w^ent 'caw ! caw !' " 
" Oh ! Tranquilla, go into the house." Foolishness is 
bound up in the heart of the Lemonite, and he never 
will know a hawk from a crow, though he see it twelve 
miles of['! Now a thunder-cloud gathers. Tlie forked 
lightnings flash red and angry. The thunder growls. 
The rain comes fast and furious. Of course the chick- 
ens are off in the far pastures gobbling grasshoppers. 
There they come scampering home, terrified, in hot 



16 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

haste. Their wet feathers are tucked away iVoin their 
little sticks of legs, which look twice as long and twice 
as slender as they beat home, frantic. And trotting 
placidly among them come four little skunks, hand ig- 
nota lo<iuor. Is this tempest, then, the beginning of the 
end of the world, and does that quiet quartette presage 
the millennium — the lion and the lamb, the chicken 
and the skunk, lying down together? Alas! no, un- 
less — as some one says — the one be inside the other. 
"When the storm is over the skunks will grow up and 
devour the neighbors' chickens — not mine, for to-mor- 
row morning I shall go out to find my chickens dead, 
one and all, of rats ; and that is why there are no eggs 
twelve miles from a lemon. 

But at least you might raise vegetables, which fox and 
weasel do not devour, nor cats and rats break through 
and steal. 

So you might, only labor all goes to Lemons, and 
twelve miles away seven women have to lay hold (^f 
one man to get a beet-bed hoed, and then tind that, in 
the confusion of the moment, he has planted beans in- 
stead of beets, and cabbages instead of sweet-corn. But 
there are early potatoes. Yes, and earlier oxen who 
tear down your wall and leap into your garden, and de- 
vour what they can and trample what they can not. 
You drive them out with much brandishing of bean- 
poles and broomsticks — the beautiful patient-eyed crea- 
tures, so strong and meek — and their master makes a 
thousand apologies, and promises that they shall not 
trespass again ; but the black heifer from the next pas- 
ture docs, and she too is repulsed in force; and then 



TWELVE MILEH FROM A LEMON. 17 

comes a wail from Tranquilla, "Oh! the oxen are in 
ngain !" and off you go, hmce in rest, to find the tres- 
passing oxen have turned into neighbor Nelly's lovely 
Alderney cow, quietly feeding in her own fields, " Tran- 
quilla! Tranquilla! will you never have done discov- 
ering marcs' nests? Is not the way hard enough, but 
you must make mountains of mole-hills ?" But in two 
days your own eyes discern a horned beast thrusting 
in among your vegetables, and your blood rises. You 
will see whether there is to be any protection to life or 
property ! " Who is the field-driver?" 

Nobody knows. I go to my friend the Forester. 
"Who is the field-driver?" 

" What's the matter? My cow got into your lot?" 

"I never thought of its being your cow, but perhaps 
it is. It's a red cow," 

" No, 'tain't mine. Mine is a Jersey." 

" I am glad of that. Now I am tired of driving cows 
out of my yard. You make me pay taxes, and you 
won't let me vote ; and the least you can do is to keep 
the cows out of my garden." 

"That's so. Can't say nothin' agin that." 

"Then who is the field-driver?" 

"Well, there ain't exactly no field-driver, like. You 
see 'tain't no great of an office, and nobody hain't much 
hankering after it. So when they nominate 'em at town- 
meetin' they decline. So you have to fasten on some- 
body that ain't there, and they appinted Stephen Bar- 
rows. We got him there! But Stephen, you see, he 
ain't took the oath, an' won't take it, and so he hain't 
no responsibility; so we're kind of satisfied all round!" 



IS TWELVE MILES FJiOM A LEMOX. 

"Beautiful logislatiou ! How complicate, how wou- 
deiTul, is man ! Meanwhile, the cow's in the meadow, 
the sheep's in the corn, and isn't there any way to get 
them out except with bean-poles?" 

"Well, yes. You can advertise in three towns that 
there is such a cow trespassing, and when the owner 
gets her you can make him pay her board, reckonin' in 
damages." 

An easy way to turn a cow out of your garden ! But 
that is why corn will not grow twelve miles from a 
lemon. 

At least I will lift up my voice in testimon3\ Preach- 
ing never comes amiss. ''My forester," I sa}', gently, 
taking a comfortable seat on the wood-pile, "1 have a 
great i-egaid for you — " 

"I'm glad any \>o\\y has." 

"But don't 3'oa occasionally fool ashamed to think 
you are a man?" He rests on his hand-saw, but with- 
, out uncrooking the pregnant hinges of his knee, and an- 
swers with a broad, bright smile : 

"Well, now, if I'd had any hand in't it might be 
worth while." 

"Here you make all the laws — rising up early and 
making them — and an enterprising cow jumps over 
them before breakfast." 

"AYell, there ain't nothin' perfect, you know. You 
can't make a law so strong but what a stray critter 11 
break it now and then." 

"But now look at me, and remember all the while, 
with a pang at the heart, that you are a man. Here is 
Barbara Brooke working like a beaver every day of her 



TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 19 

life. By hard labor, early and late — up in the morning 
at four, and in bed Heaven knows when — by going 
without butter on her bread or sugar in her tea, she has 
managed to get together money enough to buy a tiny 
house. What then do you do, you men, but pounce 
upon it? You don't wait for her to move into it; be- 
fore the door-steps are laid or made you pounce upon 
it, and demand of her eighty cents taxes. Now, as 
a man and a gentleman, don't you think that is 
mean ?" 

" Lud-a-massy ! Don't come down on me! I didn't 
do it. I ain't selectman." 

"Yes, you are selectman. All men are selectmen. 
They select themselves out to make the laws, and that 
is the way they do it." 

" But you must have tax laws, and you can't make 
no choice about who owns the property. Law is 
law." 

"But the law to tax })roperty is no more inexorable 
than the law to protect propei'ty. You arc under no 
stronger moral obligation to tax Barbara's house than 
you arc to protect my garden. But you manage mat- 
ters so that a whole herd of cows trampling through my 
grounds arc invisible to you, and I must traverse three 
towns to be rid of them ; but the moment poor Barbara 
has a roof over her head you turn all eyes to see, and 
all hands to grasp. Oh ! aren't you ashamed?" 

"Well, it don't look generous like, I vum. But 
'twon't be no great, one way or the other." 

Eighty cents, and that is the meanest of all. If it 
were eighty dollars it would be worth while. The best 



20 TWKLVi: MrU:S FJiOM A LKMOy. 

of it is that Barbara vows slio won't pnv it. lloro is 
" woman's rights" with a will. 

"Ami itulood," says Barbara,"! wont up to Kob 
.lonos's and gavo hiiu snoh a Jawin' an' sooUiin' as ho 
nivor had in liis lit'o. Tayin' taxos. imlood ! 1 tould 
liitu whoovor oanio in lor "oni shonld novor goont again! 
I'd havo tho toa-kottlo on tho stovo. and it's soalding 
wator ho shonld got in his I'aoo lor tho taxos!" And 
honost r>arbara ivoks back and ibrth, and makes the 
heavens ring with merriment at the idea of any pnny 
man eoming to demand her rightful money; and Bar- 
bara's heart is strong and her arm is brawny, and 1 
think the man who tronbles her is very likely to be in 
hot water. 

For if twelve nulos from a lemon is twelve miles 
from the law. why should not Barbara bo a law unto 
hoi-self? 

}k\y IViond tho torostor thinks she will bo, and evi- 
dently his heart is in the right place. 



LEMON -I) HOI'S. 21 



11. 

LEMON- DROPH. 

It must bo confessed tliat the rigors of rustic exile 
arc immensely mitigated by the friendly incursions of 
a class of — men, I was about to say, but I remember 
that women arc not unknown to its ratdcs — a class of 
persons whose benevolent mission is to furnish us out- 
side barbarians with the appliances of civilization. In 
the vulgate they arc termed peddlers. I call them mis- 
sionaries. Like other missionaries, they arc sometimes 
harshly entreated. There are those who look upon 
them as direct emissaries of the Evil One, roaring up and 
down the earth, seeking whom they may devour. To 
these, a peddler is but a burglar in disguise. Ife comes 
with goods by day to s[)y oiit the land and see where he 
may come/'//- goods by night. Nor is the suspicion en- 
tirely unfounded. " 'J'here's odds in deacons," the coun- 
try folk say ; how much moi'c in peddlers. My own es- 
j)ecial prejudice is against the peddler who carries a lit- 
tle black glazed carpet-bag, and in favor of him who 
comes in a large, long, high, red cart, lie give hostages 
to society. His horse and cart are a pledge of respecta- 
bility and reliabilit}'. His cart is full of curious and 
convenient little cMjmpartrnents, and in these compart- 
ments arc curiously bestowed all manner of treasures in 
Britannia and tin. The top of his cart is — not crowd- 



22 TWL'LVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

ed, but — ornamented witli wooden-ware, rows of brooms, 
nests of bright blue tubs and bright yellow buckets, and 
the regular ridges of white wash-boards, every thing 
fresh and perfect in its kind. It is a New Curiosity- 
shop, whose salesman is never ill-natured and never in 
a hurry, but always ready to reveal to you his goods 
and chattels, whether you buy or whether you forbear. 
And the charm of it is, that you buy without money. 
He does not seem to care for money. lie rather prefers 
" truck." He takes from you what is old and worn-out, 
and, to you, worthless, and gives you a brand-new cof- 
fee-pot! Is not that Christianity? The only shabby- 
looking things about his establishment are the great 
canvas bag and the tarnished tin-kettle that hang and 
swing from the rear of his cart. But they, like all the 
rest of him, are means of grace. 

"Any tin-ware to-day ?" he asks 3'ou, cheerily ; and 
when he has turned over his whole stock for your pleas- 
uring, and has explained to you all the mysteries of his 
improvements and his patents, and you have selected 
a freezer for the ice that you can not get, and a new- 
fangled egg-beater for the eggs that no hen lays, and a 
lemon-grater for the fruit that is twelve miles off, and 
begin to fumble around in your mind for the where- 
abouts of your purse — then, up speaks this angel and 
minister of grace, this missionary of the new dispensa- 
tion, and asks: 

"Any rags or paper to dispose of?"' 

Of course you have. What else do you take the 
Boston Daily for, and the Congregaiionalist, and the New 
York Nation^ and the WeeUy Post, and the Womaiis 



LEMON- DIWPS. 23 

Journal? All the picture-papers we save alive; and 
from the ladies' magazines we cut the gay-colored prints, 
and pile them in great piles in the garret, for the amuse- 
ment of the little ones, who love nothing better than 
foraging in these unfrequented places. All the rest — 
newspapers, magazines, pamphlets, learned reports, sta- 
tistics, catalogues. Fourth of July orations, and — oh, tell 
it not in Gath ! — sermons; all the torn letters and used- 
up envelopes of the waste-basket we bring forth from 
their hiding-places in barrel and box, and cast into that 
huge tin-kettle, and sell it for three, five — yes, and when 
for so long a time all was quiet on the Potomac, it went 
as high as seven and eight cents a pound. And here 
is the bag of white rags, all sorted — the bag is a little 
gnawed by mice, so you may take it bag and all, and if 
the mouse be within, let him stay and weigh ; and the 
bag of colored rags — little worth, but worth that little. 

"No old iron?" 

Certainly ; a box of rusty nails, and the Franklin 
stove, and a stove door that is well wedged into the 
barn floor — you will have to wrench it hard to get it 
out, my peddler — and a cracked tea-kettle, and an iron 
tray, and — I suppose this old bit of lead is not good for 
any thing? 

" Oh yes ; we pay five cents a pound for lead !" 

Bless me, we shall make our fortunes! There is 
nothing in the shape of metal which a tin-peddler will 
not buy, except hoop-skirts, and a hoop-skirt seems to 
be the one thing on earth for which there is no second- 
ary use, no future life, except in ]\[r. Edward Everett 
Hale's "Skeleton in the Closet," where sundry superan- 



24 TWELVE 3fILES FliOM A LEMON. 

nuatcd hoop-skirts prove the ruin of the Confederate 
navj, army, ordnance, and treasury, and, ultimately, the 
capture of JelVersou Pavis; but, I must say, I strongly 
suspect, nothwithstanding Mr. Ilale's well-known char- 
acter for veracity, that those hoop-skirts were manu- 
factured out of the whole cloth ! 

But all else is fish that comes to the tin-pcddler's 
net. And it gives you such a comfortable feeling. It 
is not only that you have made a general clearance of 
rubbish, but you arc in the line of Divine Providence. 
You are working in the Divine way. Nature wastes 
nothing, cither in material or process. Lfan can not de- 
stroy material, but he may waste work. Your rusty 
nails are not only useless, but unsightly, and black with 
impending lock-jaw. In the tin-peddler's hands they 
are on the road to a new life of usefulness. The paper 
which you cram into 3'our fire and fancy out of the way 
■is out of the wa}'. It will, indeed, presently become 
paper again, but it is by the roundabout road of smoke 
and ashes, and corn and cotton. Whereas, in the tin- 
peddler's hands it is next door to pulp, and comes back 
to paper by a short cut. You are Providence in so 
far as you have saved Providence several intermediate 
stages, which is the same thing as having accomplished 
them yourself. To all of which the tin-peddler assents, 
though in a dazed way, and I am not sure, after all, that 
the connection between himself and Providence is quite 
clear in his own mind. But he is a cheerful man, dis- 
posed to chat, and to amiable views of life ; and, when I 
half deprecate the trash which I have piled up beneath 
his steelvards, and am afraid he will think I am not a 



LEMON -DROPS. 25 

good housekeeper, he replies, comfortably, that people 
always have a heap of things to pick up when it comes 
spring — (thou good, consoling creature, it is midsum- 
mer!) — and his wife always finds odds and ends accu- 
mulate in winter, especially as she is not well. She, 
last winter, only went from kitchen to bedroom, I hope 
that he takes good care of her. lie does, indeed. She 
wanted him to give her a sleigh-ride, but he told her he 
would give her a sleigh-ridc when it came wheeling. 
He should certainly take good care of her, for it is too 
much expense to get another. Here it is my turn to 
open my eyes and meditate on Divine Providence. 
"Yes," he adds, "there is not only the expense of bury- 
ing one wife, but there is always a good deal of expense 
in getting another. Then, the second wife never quite 
makes good the first." I am somewhat appeased, and 
put my head out of the shell again, and ask if he has 
any children. 

Yes, he has five. If they were all living there would 
be a dozen of them. What do I think of that? 

Unutterable things, but I hope they are all good. 

"Well, there's worse children than mine. There's 
children that gives their parents more trouble than 
mine. My oldest boy, he's twenty. He's loafing to- 
day. The boss wanted him to stay yesterday (Sunday), 
so he's loafing to-day. Do you know — you must excuse 
me for taking such a liberty — but you remind me very 
strongly of my wedding-day." 

"Do I? Why?" 

"You're just about the build of my wife, and she 
wore a dress exactly that color. I could almost swear 

o 



2 6 TWEL YE MILES FR OM A LEMOX. 

it was tlie same. A little way off I should tbink it was 
she. You must excuse me." 

Excuse you! Oh cunning peddler! Why, it is a 
compliment. I suppose your wife never looked hand- 
somer to you than she did then. 

" Well, I don't know about that. I think she looks 
handsomer to me to-day than she ever did." 

That is better still. Have I unwittingly struck my 
pick into a placer? 

"I can say this — the longer I live with her the better 
I like her." 

"And how long is that?" 

"Twenty-two years. I saw her first in November, 
at church. That was in the Old Countr3^ I went to 
hear what we called a reformed fox-hunter. He was a 
drinking, gambling fellow; but he was a gentleman's 
son. His father said it would ruin him to have him 
turn Methodist; but he saved him twenty thousand dol- 
lars a 3' ear by it." 

So I have not only rid myself of my rags, and en- 
riched myself with coffee-pots and egg-beaters and for- 
ty-four cents hard money — that is, currenc}^, the hardest 
money going — but I have also found in this gay red 
cart a fine old English church, iv^^-hung and fair to look 
upon ; and within a fresh young English girl, ruddy 
and winsome, and a stalwart English lad, with honest 
ej^es and manly face, who seeks heaven under the gypsy 
hat rather than on the fox-hunting lips; and finds it the 
sooner, perhaps. For over the hills and far awa}'", across 
the sea, and into the wide, foreign land, the fresh .young 
Enfrlish c^irl follows her English lad-lover and husband 



LEMoy-Diiors. 27 

in one now these twenty years. Little ones come — and 
go, alas! — for wisdom lingers; but happiness lingers, 
too ; and the English lad, now a sturdy, handsome man, 
in middle life, wears a face of content and repose ; and I 
know the little lass, albeit taking somewhat less kindly 
to our alien climate, and grown, perhaps, a thought too 
pale and thin, is yet a gentle and happy woman, wearing 
her matronly charms with no less winning a grace than 
she woi'e her maiden freshness in the ivied church of 
Merrie England, 

See, now, what comes from putting yourself in the 
line of Providence, and selling your old rags ! 

Of another sort, Lemonians! are those represent- 
atives whom you send us with the little black glazed 
carpet-bags; and we spew them out of our mouths. 
Non tali auxilio! Better bereft of lemon-drops forever 
than moisten thirsty lips with bitter draughts. For 
what is in those uncanny carpet-bags? Needles and 
thread and sewing- silk and pins and brooches, they 
say; but we know it is burglars' tools — -jimmies and 
false keys, and all things which do not make for peace. 
We will none of them. If your shops overflow with 
wares, and your streets are grass-grown for lack of buy- 
ers, go West and fell trees and make wildernesses blos- 
som ; but do not send your emissaries twelve miles into 
our wilderness to profane it with cotton lace and dollar 
jewelry, and possible picking of postern locks. Such 
evil-minded folk march boldly up to the door, do not 
wait to be bidden in, scarcely even to ring or knock, 
but entering unwelcome, with impudent eyes roving 
around your room, ask if you want a new kind of glass- 



2 8 TWSL VE MILES Fit 021 A LEMON. 

es, concavo-convex, double lens, Heaven knows what, 
that will enable you to see around a corner with the 
back of your head. And though you assure the in- 
quirer that your eyes are perfect, and that you would 
not look around a corner if you could, the creature is 
hardly persuaded, but continues to unfold his brazen 
glasses with brazen fingers, till the unwearying monot- 
ony of your No makes an impression even upon his 
brazen brain. Does he then depart in peace? Do not 
flatter yourself He steps quickly enough down the 
gravel walk ; but if you do not hear the gate click dul}'-, 
go around through the dining-room, and you will find 
his wicked nose flattened against the cast parlor win- 
dow. There rage supplies you with courage, and you 
fling the front-door wide open and order him off the 
premises, which order he obeys with much gibbering 
and gesticulating, that may be deprecation or defiance 
— you can not tell. Thus he goes through the village, 
stirring up sedition, and reporting at each house that 
he has sold a pair of glasses to each resident in all the 
preceding houses. And when you tell your thrilling 
tale to Hassan the Turk, with intent to rouse him to re- 
prisals, at least to the extent of having this budding vil- 
lain well watched out of town, he only says, with stolid 
indifference, "A cat may look upon a king. Is there 
any thing in your parlor too good to be seen ?" 

Infinitely better than these, though inferior to Hones- 
tus of the red cart, is he who comes with a pack on his 
back. These have diminished in numbers of late years, 
but they used to be frequent callers, and their coming 
was a pleasant exhilaration. Almost always Germans, 



LEMON-DROPS. 29 

small of stature, wiry, strong, and pleasant- voiced, 
shrewd and careful, they deposit their packs on the 
kitchen floor, and unfold rich parcels of silk and linen 
that might tempt even a connoisseur. IIow they can 
travel under such a weight is astonishing; and how 
they can recompense themselves among us plain coun- 
try folk, who call a family council and make a pilgrim- 
age to Mecca whenever we buy a silk gown, is inex- 
plicable; but travel they do, or did, revolving in their 
orbits as regularly as the planets, till we came to have 
a friendly familiarity with their friendly faces. So, no 
doubt, they found their account in it; and many of 
them, I dare say, have by this time invested the money 
they made in our village, thrown down the pack, opened 
shop, become merchant princes, and been murdered in 
New York — an encouragement to all poor and industri- 
ous boys not to despise the day of small things. 

Next to the glazed carpet-bags do we hate and abhor 
the tall clerical-looking inen who accost us with a jaun- 
ty air, and ask us to accept a box of soap as a present ! 
We suspect these Greeks in any case, but, bearing gifts, 
we know there is a cat under the meal. And when 
they ape the clergy. Heavens ! how we ache to choke 
them with their white chokers! O Lemonians, keep 
such trash in your own borders ! To us it is rank, and 
smells to heaven. 

And look well, Lemonia, we country folk pray you, 
io the ways of the agents whom you send down upon 
us like frogs and lice and locusts for multitude. Send 
us women, if you like, or send us men, but let them be 
ignorant. A little learning is such a dano-erous thinor. 



80 T]Y£L VE J[IJLi:S FROM A LEMOX. 

The ]HV}^lo uho oiMno around \viiU nj^plc-paivrs and 
poncil-sharponors, dross-making systonis and now-lasli- 
ioned lainp-olunuiovs. are woll enough. AVe do not ob- 
ject to being reminded by sueh tokens that we are 
within twelve miles of the Lemon; but when the re- 
ligious newspaper-agents bore into your house like 
worms of the dust as they are, and ask your house- 
keeper about your way of life and your personal his- 
tory, why, you ^YOuld like to grill them over a slow lire. 
They have just intelligence enough to be curious, but 
not enough to be decent; and decency should be well 
burned into them. The apple-corcrs are modest and 
professional ; but these literary frogs and toads evident- 
ly believe, with Job's sorry set of friends, that they are 
the people, and wisdom shall die with them. You are 
not helped by instructing your door-tender to give to 
all a bland but blank refusal, for that only keeps out 
the good ones. The paehydermata, the artieulata, the 
vermes, will still worm themselves through to their own 
destruction. 

"We know that we are outside barbarians, far oiYfrom 
ice and lemons and green pease ; but we are often 
moved. C^ Lomonia ! to exclaim with Sidney, thy ne- 
cessity is greater than ours. When I see a poor man 
traveling up hill and down across our country-side, ex- 
pecting to earn his bread-and-butter by the commission 
lie is to receive on the sale of his books, and think of 
the sparse farm-houses where he is to sell them, the 
farmei's mowing the mai-shes knee-deep in salt-water, 
and the ^Yomen rising at midnight to cook their sup- 
pers. T am just not moved to teai-s. Surely the lines 



LEMON- nnopH. 31 

have fallen to you in stony places. Is there no corn 
in Egypt that you must come up to Canaan to gather 
these scanty gleanings? The minister may generally 
be counted on as secure prey, and sometimes a freak 
will take a farmer or two of us, to the peddler's advan- 
tage. 

"These Bibles are cheap and well got up," says the 
Bible-vender, who understands how to mingle religion 
and trade in a shrewd composite. 

Yes, you answer; but you have Bibles enough al- 
ready. 

"But so has your neighbor over yonder," says the 
Bible-man. "lie said he had Bibles enough, but he 
had just as lief leave part of his property in Bibles as 
any thing else; and he bought three." 

If the agents who have somewhat to give in return 
for our well-fingered currency find us a hard row to 
hoe, how rocky must be the field to those gentlemen 
who come intent on begging, " pure and simple !" They 
seldom go from house to house, but take to the pulpit, 
Eapidly and statistically they unfold the origin and 
operation of their plans, and cheerfully we listen, quite 
well knowing we are masters of the situation, and shall 
present a firm front to the foe, but perfectly willing to 
hear what he has to say, and glad our own minister has 
a breathing-place thrown in. The American Board and 
the Uome Missionaries we look after regularly, under 
the lead of our own shepherd ; the few " town poor " 
we maintain in a style that dazzles the neighboring 
nabobs; but when it comes to Sailors' Aid Societies, we 
query how many of our greenbacks would get into the 



32 TWSLVJS MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

sailors' pockets. As for the converted Jews, we rather 
tliink we like them best the natural way. And really 
it is a pretty joke, you Western colleges stretching out 
your hands from your waving wheat-fields, your inland 
seas white with commerce, your cities running riot with 
riches, and claiming tribute from our stern and rock- 
bound coast! Still, if it pleases you to come to us in 
appeal, come. You little know the invincibility and 
the invisibility of our defenses ; but come. We will 
feast you as long as you stay, for we have a saving 
faith in bread-and-butter, pies, and preserves. We will 
listen to you with decorum ; and if a ten-cent scrip or a 
ragged quarter will serve your purpose, we will drop it 
in, rather than the contribution-box should go by us 
without stopping. 

"But if them fellers want more larnin," says Uncle 
'Miah, having placidly sat the sermon out, and speaking 
now the wisdom of his eighty toiling years — "if them 
fellers want more larnin, let 'em come down here and 
go a term to Esther, and carry on my farm to halves." 

And all the people shall say. Amen ! So, Messieurs 
mes frtires, come down and present your "cause" to us 
as often as vou like. 



HEMLOCK POISON. 83 



III. 

HEML CK POISOK 

No one can suspect how much trouble it would have 
been to make the world, until he has tried his own hand 
at world-making. 

Once we wanted a hill where nature had spread a 
plain. We undertook to raise one. A hill looks easy 
enough. For days, for weeks, men and horses and carts 
were digging, hauling, loading, and tipping, and it was 
not much of a hill after all. We came to the conclusion 
that it is easier to make a very large hole tban a very 
small hill. When you have floundered in the dirt many 
days, when drags have crisscrossed your grounds in all 
directions, and harrows have scratched, and rollers have 
smoothed, and yet you need a magnifying glass to see 
where your hill is, you are prepared to read with new 
admiration, "He spake, and it was done; he command- 
ed, and it stood fast." 

Nevertheless, the spring-world ever calls you afresh. 
When the snow melts, when the brooks are unbound, 
and the skies grow tender, and the brown buds swell, 
the still small voice of the coming summer woos you 
into lovino; alliance with Nature fashionino; the Earth 
to beauty. 

I suppose we are the proprietors of the poorest tract 
of land on the North American Continent; and the 

ox- 



84 TWKIYK MILKH tJfOM A hKMOX 

WvM-st oultivnli\l. Soniothiiig is suiv to Iv planu\l ihnt 
wo ilo not Nvant, and 8v>nunhing to Iv loll vuu. thai wo 
do want. Wluil with oabbngos anvl oows. and wliito 
boans hanging Ibrgv^tlou, brown and shrivolod. to tho 
shuddoving vinos lor a tnildow and a blight, till tho 
snows drilt ovor thoni, llas^ati tho Turk s;us thoiv aro 
thivo oivps in whioh wo oxool : thoso whioh aro plantod 
and do not oonio up. thoso whioh oomo np and aro not 
gathotvd, atul thvv^o wo do tiot plant at all. 

l^ut wo liko tanning so muoh that wo oan not with- 
draw our hand. \Vo would rather Tail u\ that than sue- 
oood in anv thing olso. So wo go on ovorv spring, dig- 
ging a littlo wildly, porhaps, but digging, harrowing our 
lields and our tViendly lannors' fooling^, no doubt, at 
one foil swoop, atul trving to sjivo nionoy enough in 
other ways to keep our agrioultural oxtravaganoo tVoni 
pivsently bringing «s upon iho town. 

But it did not seem extravagant to aitoiupt to raise 
a tow pines and hondooks. Having tried every thing 
olso in vain, wo turned with humility to thoso hai\ly 
plants, and ronuMubeivd that the dostruotion ot' tivos is 
suppv.'vsod to bo tho eauso ot'ourlong and soveivdivughts, 
and hoped to vlesorvo well of tho ivpublio, besides sit- 
ting under our own shadows with great delight, Ilas- 
&;\n the Turk said our soil was so nuioh liko the soil 
to whioh pities aiv native that ho did not believe they 
would dotoot a ehangv. AVe nnght steal a niaivli on 
them, as it weiv, and they would begin growitig bofoi\3 
they diseoveiwl it was our land, and then it would bo 
too late to stv'>p. 

Oh! tho ploasujv of tho Nvork I The smell of tho 



(iarnp, uplJiriicd ciirth, the lovclinoHH of the fragrunt, 
dark, dewy woodn where you go to 8cc how the Lord 
God HetH hirt [;ineH becauHe you winh yourn U^ look junt 
like thern I Ah'in! how Koori you find that you follow 
Nature as little JuIuh did his father, with unequal HtcpH, 
1'hc treen of the Lord fairing up untrained, in carele.HH 
placcH, in graeeful and exuberant wnfuHion, while your 
groveH are bent on aHHurning fitiff geornetrieal figureH. 
JJowning — is it, who recornrnendH you t^j fling a handful 
of [)otatoe8 into the air and Bet your trees where they 
eorne down ? We darkened the air with flyirig and fall- 
ing potat<';eH, and they alighted in one heap. Having 
spent a whole morning in a strenuous, and we hoped, not 
unsuccesHful endeavor to reproduf;^; the eliarrniuL' irrecr- 
nh'irity of nature, our withdrawing footst^^ps arc arrested 
by the anxious voiec of a c<;nscientious workman, "I 
doti't know as you care — but— seems U) me— them trees 
ain't in a straight line!" 

And HO your forests are set a-waving, and the beauty 
of it is that you have no weary waiting, for tliey are a 
joy f'lY^m ijir; first moriicnt of their arrival. A hemlock 
grows larger, but it is never more symrnetrieal or inter- 
esting than when it is first set. A pine is as tall at its 
transplanting as a rose-bush in its old ago. Yesterday 
a waste of pebbly hill-side, a level stretch of green — 
to-day the morning breeze on tree-tops, flickering shad- 
ows on the grass, the poise of robins on the branches, 
blue-birds flashing in and out, and the whir of hum- 
ming-birds on their way U) honeysuckles. 

IJut sweet Nature is cruel. No sooner is rny little 
venture made than the stars in their courses fight 



80 TWm.VK MIl.KS FhHhV A I.KMOX. 

;iv;;;iinsl inv\ Mv nvos t'airly rooU\l. ami siu-li a ilroui^hl. 
ooiuos ;\s l>as not boon kiunvi\ in Israol ihoso yoais. 'PI\o 
tivos iliat NYoro to bo transj^lantoil with so nnu-h i^lthoir 
ntothor oarih avvnind thorn that thoy wofo oxpootod nov- 
or to tiuvl it out. bogan to show sii;ns ot" honiosioknoss. 
Wo waior thorn, but \Yhat aiv a ilv\,on watovingpots 
ntnvMig so t\)any ? Wo build our hoj^os on annivoi'sat'v- 
wook, but iho lioavons havo tbiv,\nton tho 'Traot SvH'uiv. 
and thoir oloigv jiivo but drv disquisitions. My givon- 
orv tnakos a bi'avo t\v;hi. It has nothing but a little 
muloh to onoourago it^ yot it snulos on mo and oling>! to 
lito. Hut a saint could not hold out ioivvor against tho 
raging. }ntiloss sun, this dry, pavohing. dust-tVanght wind, 
atid tho tassols of tho pinos n\nst vliv^op, and tho stooky,- 
stunly hontlooks put on an oiuinv>us yoUow. 

"Oh, Hassan!" orios tho voioo ofdistnay, " what shall 
1 do ifniY homUvks dio?" 

'" Vou havo sotnothij»g still lolY to livo tor." answot^, 
ohoorfuUy, llas^san tho Turk. l>ut tho iron has not on- 
torod his soul. 

*'1\> YOU think tlioy Nvill dio?" 

'*(*uoj^ so. 1 sot out a liodg'i'* of homlooks onoo. 
raid sixty dolhu-s lor it. T/iti/ all died." 

*H)h! why did you not toll mo sooner?" 

'* So you will tall toul ol' i\io ! AVell, homlooks always 
>YOtx^ a datigeivus plaything. Sooratos gvt tho tirst lick, 
atid I vshall britig up the roar in good oom}\iny." 

1 stivngly objoet to tho word /,v'«\ but that is what ho 
.said. I only attsworod : 

" It is roally sad to hoar you spo.ak with suoh levity 
in tho }>rosonoo ol'so groat a trouble." 



IIKMIJfCK J '01 HON. UJ 

" 'i';rM)bh;? You )i;i,v*; /lotJiin;.^ on c'ulJi l,o Uouhlo 
yoii bul, lour dc.-i'l }i(;r(ilof;l;;i <>\\ ono hide of your f/^uUif 
and five Jivo oncM <>\t l.lio oUicr. I)o you want, tin; (,o 
put on a wood for that?" 

" Hut t';ll mc wliut to do. I'crliaj).', !;orn';thirij'^ nii;.'liL 
Htill Hav; thcrn." 

" Woll, my advice in, that yoii irnrncdiately t;i,ko a 
frcah cry over your Iicrnh^ckH, then f^ull ttiern ail lij), 
and write an aeeonnt of it for 7'//^- N'-m h'//;/ia'n'i /'armcr, 
and mala; Iiirn [<ay for them, deati or alive-, two [;rieeH 
ifd(;ad, and hurry u[>, or they will live yet. and you will 
he too late." 

A man of ability who in willinp^ to ^dve iiin mind to 
a Huljject Ih u very UH<;ful pcrHon ; hut when he ap- 
proachr;H a topic; with uriKcernly fiivolity, he in a p^reat 
deal worHo than no)jo(Jy. 

Yet, in npiUi of 'i'urkH and 'iVact SocieticH, the lr<K;« 
lived. A \(:vy ft^vf went deHperaUJy on U) yellow death, 
but wc cut them down darkly at dead of ni;.d)t, uh they 
buried Sir Joljn Moore, 

"JJy tli<! fAruff^ftUnii, rn'j()iibf;;irn'M mi«ty li^jlil, 
And the JufiU;rri» (iinily btjrninj/," 

and the ncigliborH never rniBsed thern. J'lver in it ejiwier 
to bear our rniHfortuncH than the cornrnentH of our f'riendH 
upon tliem, an Lacon Kaith. A few IjemiockH aJHo gave 
up their Ijeaiitiful glioHtn, but we luckily had an out- 
lying HurpluH plantation wherewithal U) (ill the breach; 
HO, with flying bannerH, wc went on gayly, till St. Jf^hnH- 
wort flaunU;d on the hillK, and golden-ro'l rone by every 
way-side, and wc knew tliat Autumn wan holding out 
her sceptre for the world'H encouragement. 



88 TWKl.Vl-: MILES FROM A l.h'MOX. 

Tlion ;ig;iiii anguish juciX'oJ my lioai't, tor again blight 
sconuHl t\) solllo on iho }>inos. Their givon .^pikos iv- 
assuniod thai bah'ful vollow, only, unlike the past, their 
ti{)s staid groeii. I soornoil to ask questions that might 
seem to be begging lor reassurance, but said to my 
(Viend the forester, in an indilVerent sort of ^vay, "1 am 
afraid I am going lo lose my tiw^s. 'They secMu to be 
turning." 1 eherished a faint hoj^e he would say they 
always did so. 

" Yes," said he, promptly, " 1 thinks likely yi>u won't 
have moi-e'n three or four left by sju'ing!" 

iVfler the liist s{)asm of disgust, 1 excused him by re- 
lleeting that he made no }iretense to seienee, but con- 
tented himself with doing with his might whatever his 
Land found to do. Hut my iViend the i'resident is a 
man who ean sjieak of trees, from the eedar-trec that is 
in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of 
tlio wall. So 1 said to him, with the same nonehalant 
air, '' By-the-way, my trees are going to die. They arc 
all turned yelK>w." 

"Are they? Oh! pity, J^ity !" he exelaimed. with a 
sympathy almost belter than pines. 

Llark now. A few days afterward T was driving in 
tlic woods, and, behold ! the trees o[' the good God were 
all turning yellow, just like mine! 

It was no dying at all. It was just as 1 had vague- 
ly hoped — the way oi' a pine-tree in the autumn ; and 
neither the {U'aetieal man of the axe nor the theoretical 
man of science knew any thing about it. O TiUcifer, 
Son of the ^rorning, how much of thy reputation is 
founded in the iLrnoranee of thy followers! 



y 

IIKMI.OCK I'OISON. .'59 

TIk; f;ol(l (luyH cuiiic, ;in(| w<; Icfl our [/iiich aixl licrii- 

locks to tlicir winU;r work ;iii(] \\\c'\v wiiil(;r r(;Ht, flour- 

isliin^ ]ik(; a ^yva'M huy-tf(;<;. VV<; tlioii^^lit tli'^y liud 

stood tlio cruciul tcHt, and rrii;.dit 

" Keiir nf) more tlic hciit o' tlio Hiiri, 
Nor the fiiriouH wintci'H rnn<!H." 

Wo talk(;d ]ovin;fly of th(;ir b(;auty, and wondcnjd liow 
Tiiiicli tlicy would liav(; f.^rowri hy the tiiiic wo and tlio 
Kurntnor hIkjuM liavo rctuniod to tliotri. Tfic dnjadful, 
tlio rolontlosH, tlio irro.sistihlo winter carno — caino and 
Htaid. Tlio slow, olnllod sjiiiii;^; follf^wcd, laggard and 
Jainc. J>ut JiCu was full of warrnth and briglitnoHH and 
color, and 1 foarod no evil. \n common with all the 
world, wf! pitied Pcslitigo and bewailed (Jhioa^^o, though 
1 may whisper in an aside that the largest and loveli- 
est (liamondH I ever saw were lianging uj>on largo and 
lovely Chicago sufferers I Wo watched with anxious 
eagerness the perils and j)rivatioris of snow -blocked 
travelers journeying "from the land of the .Sunrise to- 
ward the Sunrising," or fleeing the ice-fields of Maine 
for the mild rigors of I^ake W(;nham, and never dream- 
ed that we had any tiling at stake in the thermometer. 
But, alas! as soon as the country was thawed out, omi- 
nous messages began to trickle through. .John I'aj>ti;-:t 
cried first in the wilderness: 

" I am afraid winter has slain ma,ny of your ever- 
greens. My own hemlocks have half tlieir tops win- 
ter-killed, and many of my |')inos are dead. 'Vha little 
shelter afforded by the old fence and those venerable 
apple-trees which you were prevailed on to spare for 
my sake (f had resisted his passionate entreaties to cut 



-10 TWEl.Vt: JJll.KS FJi'OM A J.KMOX. 

ihom downl Never while ;i bluebird lives, or n, llinisli 
sings, or an oriole llanies, never while a home-born po- 
tato is probleniatieal and no amount oChortieidlure will 
let. us have pease, w'\\\ 1 lay the axe at the root of any 
tree. Shall 1, who can not raise so mueh as a bush, 
presume to ra/-e a tree?) may probably have saved your 
hedge. The time between lil'e and death is very ihin. 
The lieavy wind at /.ero seemed to eut the poor trees 
to the heart. Your hill would also help yours." 

In a woild like this it does seem useless to antieijKito 
trouble, and 1 only answered tartly, "Bo you mean that 
all your hendoeks are hall' dead, or lialf your hendoeks 
ftro all dead?"' It was a mere quibble, and lli{>pant 
enough, but it turned aside the j^oisoned dart for a 
time. 

Tivsently eame another mes.^enger nialign. 

" Your Junes are turning yellow. ^\sk your seientitic 
President if that is a good sign.'" 

I did not heed the covert sneer, but my heart mis- 
gave me tor yellow pines in sju'ing. Botany is silent, 
and analogy ci\n not bear false witness against its neigh- 
bor. IS or am I ealled to Tight a foreboding, but a 
faet. 

Traetieal Common Sense anon took up the }tarable, 
and [ujkhI. 

"More than half your hendoeks in the incijnent 
hedge are dead — at least look dead, but may yet sju'ing 
u}> from the roots." 

Thanks for the intended eonsolation; but as we sel- 
dom expect a large crop of apples from hemlocks, and 
the look is all there is of them, I woidd rather they 



IIKMLQCK rOIHON. ' 41 

.should ])C (lead .itid loolc alive, lliaii bo alive and look 
dead. 

ArLloss Iiiuoccnco, in Ictlor iiuiuhcr four, f)i'attlcd 
simply, but stiii^iii^Iy, 

"About all your lil.l.lo ti'ccs lliaL you |)lant,('(l ar(3 
d(;ad." 

TIkmi Job arose and said, "()(" course tliey are dead. 
What inducement had they to live? Hear what the 
iiewsj)aj)er saith : 'The destruction of cvei'greens was 
general over New l<]n^l;ind. Mr. M., the nurseryman, 
lost over five thousand dijllars by (lam;i^(i to his nui's- 
ei'y-bed ol' evergreens.' And again: "IMie ))ine.s and 
cedars everywhere, even in the parks abcnit New York, 
and the rhododendrons and the strawberiies, arc; badly 
hurt.' And yet again: 'AH the young evergreens in 
New York and Massachusetts are dead. The warm 
weather of February started the saj), and the cold weath- 
er of March froze them. It is a severe blow to thou- 
sands of nurserymen who gained a livelihood by raising 
evergreens for market. It will take years to replace 
them. In Central I'ark, New York, one would be led 
to think fire had run through it, as not a green tree is 
spared.' " 

Of course I never undertook to stem such a tide as 
this. I planted my pines in good faith, trusting to tlio 
promise of the rainbow. Nothing tliat money or mulch 
could do was spared, but I never took a contract to 
thaw out the North Pole. WIkiu lovely Nature stooj)S 
to folly of this stupendous sort, the only thing left for 
any respectable hemlock is to wring his bosom, and to 
die. Surely Wisdom is justified of her children. 



■V2 llVh'l.VN Mll.h'S I'UOM .1 IJ.'MOX. 

But wliy should ISatuiv 1h> so oluirlisli? Wlun 1 
am Irvinjr \n u\y smnll way to Ixwutily the worUl, why 
does slu> liiiuK-r'i' I lia\i" no 'rilaiiu' niubiliou to gnUi- 
ly. 1 do not aim to rival hcv (.'alil'orniau l>i>:,' 'I'roi^s, 
or to outshine and oulslnule her Ama/,oniau lorests. 1 
only seek to tfanster the unappropriated beauty oilier 
wildernesses to my mvn iloor yard. I will not. rob her 
of a tithe ol" her eharm. I will but gather a little of it 
to my heail. ll' she will not help, eau she not at least 
let me alone? She sees \\\c seratehin>;- the earth wiili 
leeble tini;"ers lor a lew forlorn bushes. l''ron\ her mul- 
titudinous and mai<;uitudiiunis tri'e-tops, frou\ her wild, 
wide, traekless forests, she mii;ht well lan;>h me to seorn. 
lUit is it noble, is it maguaniuums in her to rise \ip and 
send down upon us the ei>ldest winter we lia\e iuul for 
twenty-live years just to free:'.e me out? A\'ould 1 have 
treated C'aius Oassius so? 

jMeanwdjile, what j>leasure can be derivinl froni three 
bundred feet of hendoek skeletons tiling past the front 
iloor. that pleasure 1 enjoy. 

*■ Far or f»rj:;ot to ino is near; 

SlmiUnv iiiitl siiulij>;ht i\ro tho snuio; 
'ri\o vaiiisliod jA'oils ti> nio apjuMir ; 

Ami i>iK> lo im< iiio slmmo i\\\d t'siiuo." 

And Hassan the 'Turk immediati'iy added with ilis^ 
linguishing emphasis, 

" 'riio stri>i)i; gotls rino (ov \\\\ nboilo, 
Aiul riiio in vain tho saoroil Sommi." 

A romantic visitor, fresh from our eharniing neigh- 
bor's r>rier Hill, tried to eontinue the sjvll by naming" 
us •' Pino Lodge." AVo smiled and sim]HMvd, but did 



IIKMLDHK I'OISON. /\:>, 

iioL <l(;ny 1,li<; Hofl itnjj':;u:liiijf;iil,. It, liaH a manorial 
Hound. Ona could almost ima^Miio JiitriKcIi' an I'in;(li;-;li 
country ^^cntloman, untitled, but of .'uicif.nt hlofjd, while 
dating liin letter from I'ine Iiod<{e. iJut the pincH will 
not lodge, 'I'heir end in U> be burned, and that Hwiftly. 
ThuM |);iHHeH .'iw.'iy the glory of our narn(;. VVc can nof, 
by ;ui ;i))|>ell;i,l,iv'', eoriHtantly renew our unHjjoakablc 
griefis. JbiHHan the ^I'urk HUggcHtH that wo ro-cliriHt^ni 
ourselves 'J'lio I'inery. 'I'luit, he Htiyn, with grim jocu- 
larity, will never b(; a mi.-;nonier! 



nVKir£ MILKS FJiOM A LKMOX, 



IV. 

77//; ir(>.\7)/7;> .i.v/> wisihkm (>/' (M/:- 

This is an ititorosting world, whoihorvou luivo helped 
ix"*-make it, or whetlior you take it as it is. You livo 
and live and live — so long that you ean not renunnber 
a time that you weiv not alive. You learn the Kvk 
of thing's, and the name ot' thing's, and you t'aney you 
know the things themselves. lUit one day, some er- 
ratid, perhaps some eapriee, ealls yon. You open a gate 
whieh has stood in its plaee ever siiiee the I'oundation 
of the world. It was a eommonplaee enough gate. It 
never elieited your euri^'vsity — seaively even your atten- 
tion. It' you thonght of it at all, you thought only that 
it led into a pastuiv-givund beyond. }>ut you ojhmi it, 
you pass through, and behold you are in a new worUl ! 

Then you pereeive that hitherto the gate-way was no 
entrance, but a barrieade. You saw only the outside 
and weiv eontent with a name. 

From generation to generation, men have built, and 
ivpaiivd, and destroyed houses, but until yon have done 
it youi-selt", earpentry is but a lost art, a voiee, and noth- 
ing more. '* Knowledge by sntVering entereth," says 
the poet. Yes, and knowledge by doing, entcivth alsa 

I snppose it will not be denied tliat ehange itself is 
pleasuiv. AVhen a tit of weariness overtakes you, real 



77/ A' WONDEUH AND WISDOM OF (JAItPJUNTUY. 4o 

rest ai)d refreshment arc to be found in pushing the 
bureau back into tlic corner, wheeling the sofa up to 
the fire-place, and bearing the what-not over to the 
south-west. You bring the satisfaction of foreign trav- 
el into your own room. When you can change not 
only the furnishing of your apartment, but the apart- 
ment itself, when the spirit of diversion enters into your 
partitions, when your doors begin to slip around cor- 
ners, and your stair-ways dance across the entry, and the 
entry strikes out into the world ; when blank walls sud- 
denly open fair outlooks upon field and sky, and pine- 
trees breathe welcome, and birds sing in the pines, and 
humming-birds hover over the honeysuckle where be- 
fore the silence and stupidity of room-paper were wont 
to reign; life becomes new every morning, and fresh 
every evening. 

You have a mind to " introduce water into the house." 
Our ancestors must have had a sort of hydrophobia. A 
house without water, is like a body without blood ; but 
twelve miles from a lemon most houses are thus blood- 
less. People think themselves fortunate who have a 
well in the door-yard, and must bring their water pain- 
fully in hand-buckets. There is a notion that bath- 
rooms and water-pipes pertain only to cities, and must 
be sustained by corporations, and supplied by lakes, and 
appear in hose and hydrants, and quarterly bills. 

But we, in a moment of inspiration, became convinced 
that a house may have water-works even if you have 
no river to turn on. We meditated a bath-room. It 
should be in the middle of the house for warmth in win- 
ter. But we had no middle-house to spare. There nev- 



or is any room to spaiv. The only available spot is tlio 
back entry. Of ooui-se. then, there is but one thing to do 
— build on more house. 

There you have the pivbleni solved -eentral b:\th- 
iX3oni, and no spaee saerilieed. 

It may be eonsideivd a eumbrous and eostlv solution, 
and in some eases it might be. But our land is good 
lor nothing. The only erop you can raise on it is house. 

Kature is stubborn, and will not yield to all our coax- 
ings. Let \is see if arehiteeture is equally strong to 
prevail against us. 

AVe thought it over and talked it over in twilight 
horn's, and 1 fear we did not keep it wholly out of our 
minds on Sunday. In dreams our plans rounded out 
staunch and stately, but it did not seem possible that they 
would ever be any thing but plans — not even ^Yhen a 
bevy of ioivign workmen, rough and ragged, Ikx'ked 
across our grouitds and thrust their spades into the 
givensward ; scarcely more so when the trim and shivwd 
American workmen came in like a tlood and bestrewed 
our hill with bricks and boards. But time went on, 
beams detined the cellar, raftei-s divpped into place, 
planks spantied abysses, chimneys sprang aloit, rooms 
and windows and door-ways began to develop then\- 
selves, and lo! our thought, our remote, shadowy, in- 
tangible, and then our exact and elaborate thought, stood 
out in wood and plaster, and brick and marble, befoiv 
our very eyes I 

I must admit that I felt a hearty enthusiasm for my- 
self. "Is not this great Babylon which /have built?" 
This is not necess^irilv arix^oance. It may be akin to 



77/ A' WON I) Kits AND WISDOM OF (JAJU'l'JNTIiY. 47 

worsliip. 'Vo be sure, I had not lift'.''! a riM;.^or. So 
rnucli the more in our small human way had we follow- 
ed lli.s method whose 

" Eternal tliought niovcH on 
FliH undiHturbed iiflaii's." 

We had spoken, and it was done. Wc commanded, and 
it stands fast. 

And yet the best part of the wliole is that, thanks to 
the limitations of human nature, it was not done at our 
simple speaking. The doing was a process, and the 
process was a constant joy. 

But people arc awry. They have fallen into confu- 
sion as to what constitutes good and evil. " Well, I 
am sure it is a great job," they would say with a heavy 
sigh. And so it would have been had wc lifted the 
beams, and sawed the boards, and driven the nails our- 
selves; but it is no job at all to sit in the sunshine and 
sec other people hammering. And that is really all 
that building a bouse amounts to. The fact is that wc 
arc scared by imagination, lieal things do not so much 
trouble us. It is phantoms of things evoked from our 
brains. It is no trouble at all to make a bath-room. 
The trouble is in the fancy of what Vjath-room building 
may be. 

But the disorder of liouse-repairing! ''J'herc it is 
again. 'J'ho mischievous error that order is Heaven's 
first law, is the lieresy of many otherwi.se excellent 
women. Order is not Heaven's fii'st law. It is di.sor- 
der. Order comes second. I have Pope against me, 
but Moses and the Prophets are on my side. "In the 
beginning God created the heavens and the earth." 



IS TWL'LVJi MILL'S KUOM A Lh'MOX. 

''And the earth was without form mid void." 

Can disorder be more deftly exj^ressed? 

"We speak of the turtle as if his tribe were the onlv 
one that carries its house on its head. But in fact wo 
arc but the turtle's elder brethren, and carry our houses 
on our heads and in our hearts as well. It is impossi- 
ble to tell or even to know what a care a house is till 
you throw it olV. The delight of having no "fall clean- 
ing!'' The happiness of seeing every thing at six's 
and seven's, and knowing that is just where it ought to 
be! All the closets are bestrewn upon tables, and noth- 
ing need be touched for six weeks! It is camping out 
in your own house. Away with tidiiu\^s, and punctual- 
ity, and regularity, and civilization ! C\nne chaos, and 
freedom, living fron\ hand to mouth, tleetness of foot, 
and no responsibility for any thing! 

And by the time you are beginning to grow tired of 
it, and thinking of quiet and comfort — it is all over. 
Tranquillity returns of itself The doors and windows 
have become stable, and you resume your routine with 
a heartiness and appreciation to which you had hitherto 
been a stranger. 

Nothing in our houses becomes us like the leaving 
them sometimes to themselves. Order is no spontane- 
ous generation, but is the fair daughter of a fairer moth- 
er, disorder. Thus we learn the in-o{H>rtions and rela- 
tions of things. 

Carpentry is next door to high art, if indeed it be 
not itself high art. Of mechanical work we often think 
lightly; anv thing done mechanically seems to be done 
by rule and routine, without spirit or love. But the 



THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 49 

mechanics of the carpenter implies a steadfast soul, a 
quick imagination, a keen eye, a fine, firm hand. The 
higher grade of carpentry we recognize as art, and call 
it architecture; and its designer an architect. The ca- 
thedrals and palaces of the Old World are pictures and 
poems in stones. Not only were inexhaustible patience 
and boundless wealth built into them, but it was genius 
that conceived them, and in the brain of the artist they 
had their first life. 

The carpenter who builds your house is no Michael 
Angelo for a pope's patronage, and his name may never 
be heard beyond his own country. But he is also no 
dullard, blank of design as the wood on which he works. 
Somebody, or perhaps many bodies — many minds — 
have brought this modest household service to such a 
pass, that the skillful carpenter must be a man of mind. 
I suppose any dunce can drive a nail and saw a board, 
and if a man is content to be a hewer of wood all his 
life, and to live under authority, he can be a clumsy 
carpenter. But the master of his trade lays hold of 
mathematics, understands the science of proportion, 
foresees the statue in the marble. 

Your new house, let us say, is to be built in the coun- 
try, and fastened trig and firm to the old one. It is 
also not to look as if it were an after - thought, and 
patched on, but as if it grew there in the beginning. 
This is the problem. Thus it is solved : 

The carpenter comes down from the city, browses 
around for an hour or two, up stairs, down stairs, and in 
my lady's chamber, with a two-foot rule, takes the next 
train home, and builds your house in New York! All 



50 V 11 /-.v. I A' Mll./:s i-h'O.M A l.h'MiKV. 

lie iloos Ml'lorwnnl is to brinuj it, down ami juil it up. 
Tliiit is iiuTiHlililo, onh- liiat I \\:wc sroii it iK>iu\ ^"our 
lii>iiso appears umlor llio guiso o[' loads of wood cut iulo 
luimorous sliai>cs aiul sii'.os, aboundiiii:; in little i;roovos 
and nielies lor ton!;iu\s to slip in, and lillle ti>n;j,ues Iv) 
slip in llioin, ami llu\v all slip in ! Tiial is iho marvel. 
.Mvery tiling tils into its jdaee. 'There is no taking in 
ol'seanis lor the doors, or letting down of tueks for iho 
windows. Mveiv frame sits in the hole nuulo for it, and 
every thing slavs where if is j)ul. ^V hatever was fore- 
«.>rdained eoines to pass. 

Oh! Inn thev take it all so easily. It, is no work at 
all. ll is a la.:y lile. 1 ha\e sat in the sunshine and 
watelied them for hours, and 1 know what 1 am talking 
about. 'IMiev swing on a staging with an apronful of 
nails, and hanuner leisurely through the bright Oetobor 
nu>rning. They lift a beam on one end, and it lalls ol' 
its i>wn weight. They set a board upright, ami then 
walk oil" and look a! it. They never seem to be doing 
any thing in }KUtieular, only things somehow get done. 
1 look at my neighbor r>arbara, hurrying with might and 
main from wash-tub to well -curb, from well-curb to 
cooking-stove, from cooking-stove to ironing-board — all 
day long — all week, and month, and year long, and 
think how^ nuicli harder ;i woman works than a man. 
r>arbara. seems always to be s{>ringing at the top of her 
strength. These carpenters seem scarcely to bring their 
strength into }day, and .1 suppose for their happy -go- 
easy life they are }>aid \cn times as much as poor Bar- 
bara, for her eager and lavish mitlay. 

A blind man might sec that the moral is that woman 



TIIH WONDNItH ANI> WISDOM Oh' CAUI'KNTItY. r>j 

()ii;.^lit nol to W(;ik'. IL i,s tlio rni.ssion of in;u), und for 
liiiii il, JH easy ainl lncnitivc It is ror(;i;.ai to wonuin, 
aii<l biuiscs her lieud, while nho cuii only brui.sc its h(;(;l. 
I liavo (]iKcov(;r(;(|, also, that otic icaKon why men ai(j 
so SUCCeHHfVil in the vvoild is, that they are K(; lawl(;KH. 
Women are e(;nstantly harnp(;r(;d by little Keriij)!es (jf 
eoiiseieriet!, or })i'0})ri(;ty, or economy. A man Keem.s to 
tliiidv that ev'.Ty thin;j; was made f(jr the piirposc to 
which he ch(;ose.s to turn it. J hav(; no reason to .siij^pose 
that my carj)entei-H were not Herui)i4loiJsly lionest, but 
if we had been in a state (W declared wiiihiie thi;y coidd 
not have eonliseat(;d my profjcity with m(jre remor.so 
le.sH readiness. If they wanted any thin^';, they took it, 
|)id they d<'sii'(; to mix m(ntar? they made a raid (ju 
tlie wash-tub. Depict the ctnotions ol' the I'emale breast 
at Hccing a xiwv^y, of tul)S carried out of the cellar, 
knocked aiound the well, ;iiid ijed;iubed with mud! 
Thiidc oC finding' your chopjjin^^-.bowl iind(;r the garret- 
eaves doin^ duty as a naihbox. Jf a woman wanted a 
j)icco of cloth to protect water-pijjcs fif^m aljrasion, she 
W(;uld come and ask you for it. A man looks around 
and takes the first tiling lie lays his eyes on, unconscious 
and uncaring whetlier it is a passe disli-clotli or a silk 
gown. A wotnan is naturally economical, and })eforc 
she jjuts any thing to a use n(;t strictly germane to its 
pur{)ose, slie puts herself tlirough a course of question- 
ing as to whether slie may not want it for something 
else more than she wants it for this, or whether some- 
thing else of less vahie may not sfirve licr (;qually well 
here. A man is natur:dly extravagant, and says: 
"After me the dehi<'"e.'' I. must admit that there is a 



52 TWh'I.VK' Mll.f-.S Fh'OM .1 l.h'MOX. 

oorlaiu oliaiiu in this iwklossnoss. ('•no i^vls tirod o[' 
toivvor balatu'ing oxigoiuMos. ]ivaof icing- oci>non\ios, ox- 
oivisiiig prudonoo, and it, is aotually ivtVoshing to soo 
a boing so niado that, ho intrinsioally doos wliat ho 
choosos, withont, stopping; to oonsidor whothor it is (ho 
best thing to (\o. Mon also aro so jnnoh more accus- 
tomod than wiMnon to hiigo outlay, large inoonie, largo 
dealing, that thoy aro impatient ot" minor considerations, 
and novor think i^f permitting any penny-wise prudonoo 
to stand in the way of their eonvonieneo or gratitioation, 
'IMio Divine mind is the only one that ean oipially Avell 
grapple with outline and detail, b'inito minds, it" thev 
NYOuld oompass generals, must ol'ten eonsont to saeritloo 
}\irtioulars. There are some things in this life whioh 
we ean dispense with, and some whioh aro indispensa- 
ble. 'IMiey are wise who wisely disoriminate, and do not 
lose the best in trying to hold all. There aro women 
who novor got on, booauso they do not know where to 
let go. They ean do the sowing, the house -oloaning, 
tlie eooking. better than any woman thev can hire; so 
they yield to the temptation and do it all, till thev aro 
broken in health, and spirits, and temper. Thoy do not 
see that, though the hired help is a oaroless seamstress, 
an extravagant cook, and an untidy washor woman, she 
would be a still worse home-maker; that, little as sho 
contributes to the family comfort, sho would contribute 
to the family happiness still less. It is not absolutely 
essential that the silver be polished every week, that all 
the carpets be beaten every fall. It. is essential that 
health should be tine, and heart ohoorful, and temper 
tranquil. Constituted as society is, women, to etVoot 



77/A' WONDEliH AND WISDOM 01<' VAliPENTRY. 53 

tills, must learn what tliinf^s it will do to let go, and 
what must bo held fast. JC wo could have all the; house- 
work done in its j)roj)er time and manner, it would })e 
viivy charming; but what we must have is a bright, 
warm, wooing atmosphere in the; home. 

Thus I muse<], sittitig on the new garret stairs and 
observing that an antiquated but stocky beaver hat, 
IVom whieii J had mentally constructed a pair of moc- 
casins, had been pressed into service by my biigands 
as a chisel, screw, and hammer-holder. 

It is a serious objection to most useful occupations 
that they conflict with personal neatness. You can not 
sweep without becoming dusty, or cook without con- 
tracting grease spots. The farmer mud grow dirty in 
•his potato-field, and the engineer smutty on his engine. 
It may not be unwholesome, but it is certainly not at- 
tractive. It does not affect character, and is therefore 
not injurious; and what we should do if some persons 
were not willing to surmount their repugnance and till 
the soil and drive the engines for us, it is not easy to 
conjecture. Certainly, speaking after the manner of 
Sunday-schools, we ought to be very grateful to them ; 
but I, for one, can blame nobody for not liking or choos- 
ing employments which soil clothes and faces and hands. 
Carpentry is fi'ce from all this. The artificer in wood 
may be as immaculate at the day's close as he was at 
its commencement. Ife works in a clean, sweet, fra- 
grant substance, fresh and pure as the sunshine which 
gave it life. All the debris of his work are odorous 
chips, lithe and graceful sliavings, sawdust — which is 
dust only l^y courtesy. As a result, it is not surpris- 



M nVKf.VK Mlf.KS riiOM A LKMOX. 

iiiij,' th;\t tho varponlor is a niau of i;vutlonosi5, graoo, aiul 
roln\omont liis voioo is nioloilious, his lanuuago cor- 
root, his inaimors o|uiot, liis ilisposiiion obliging. My 
oarpontors kopt houso tor ino, as you may say. throo 
tuonths; yot sv> ooiisi^lorato, dolioaio. and intolligoiit 
\voi\> thoy, that thoir prosonoo sooiwod not so inuoh in- 
trusivo as protoolivo anil bonotloont, auil wo loh quito 
lorsakou whv^i ihoy [>aokoil thoir ehosts anil lodo olV. 
It is rathor j^loasaut and sociable to l\oan\ littlo tapping 
on tho wall, liko n wooiljHX'kor pooking his hollow oak- 
tivo, anil whon yon look up. lo! a iViomlly laoo knock- 
ing throngli tho pariiiioi\. li is exhilarating to lot in 
water on your now tank just to soo it" yon can, anil hall- 
ilrown a man ourloil up in tho bottom oi' it soKloring 
something. Novor diil I \\v any ohanoo ho;ir or over- 
hear a single j>rolano, iuilooorous. or ooarse word only 
once, when tho oarpenters and p]un\boi"s, iVom their dis- 
tant, homes, wore all ready to join loroos. and a part 
ot" tho important maohinery had tailed to come, and 
thus, ot" course, set thoir plans at naught. Then did 
I, through tho elosed blind and the ojhmi window, hear 
l'»\>m tho swoot- voiced, brown -haired, deep eyed oar- 
pouter on tho barn-stops the impatient ejaeulation, 

••Parnit. all!" 

l>ut, under the ciivumstanoes, that was ium very bad. 
Sutvly tho accu.sing angel who Hew up to Heaven's 
chatK'ory with tho oath blushed as lie gave it in, and 
tho ivcording angvl, at\d so forth. " Oarn it all." No 
doubt thoiv arc vutlled states of mind which this simple, 
sonunvhat inoonsei\uont and inexi>lioablo, yet vohomont 
exclamation mav serve to soothe; jmd it", hurting no 



TIIJ'J WONhKllH AND WISDOM 01'' (JAltl'KNTItY. 55 

one, iL dooH culm jricntul or Mcrvou.s porlurbulion, iL i.s 
not one of tlioso idlo words of wliioli we rriunt give ac- 
coiiiiL in tli(j d;iy of jiuigtncnt, l;ul a most useful and 
Kalulji'ioijs woid, wlii<:li .sliidl .smell sweet and blosKom 
in the dust. 

And eujpentera are like Toodles's coftin, so handy to 
have in the house. They not ordy do wliat you bid 
tlicni, but scores of things that you did not think of 
yourself. They see all tluj available little nooks for 
hooks and spaces for shelves, which, once up, you won- 
der iiow you ever got on without. They fasten litth; 
wheels to all y(;iir wells, till children cry for the piivi- 
Icge of di'awing water. You go away in the morning 
leaving your C(;llar an uproar of rubbish. You return 
at night to find a j)lac(; for (;veiy thing and <;very thing 
in its plae(;. Shall 1 ever forget the gloom of a descent 
into that Avernus aftf.-r a week's absence, when chill 
November's surly blasts made a furnace i'wa necessary, 
and there were ordy Anglo-Saxon hands to build it? 
No heavier lay vlOtna on tortured Knceladus than lay 
the clinkei'S and aslies of that cold, uncompromising 
furnace on my soul. Shivering hands hold the feeble 
lamp, desperate hands grasp the huge iron wrench, atid 
down comes — not the expected horrid fluff of ashes, but 
a cheerful, tiny curl of shaving! Ila! what is this? 
We gaze into each othei's ey(;s! It can not be! "We 
tear ojx.n tlu; furnace door. It is! It is! Those an- 
gels have shaken out every relic of the late departed 
fire, have put in paper and shavings, and wood and coal, 
so that all we have to do is to touch a tajjcr underneath, 
and immcrliately warmth and light, and heait and hope, 



50 TWELVE 311 LES FROM A LEMON. 

love and gratitude, human brotherhood, the unity of 
the race, and the soHdarity of the peoples, are roaring 
through every pipe and funnel and chimney, till the 
whole house is aglow. 

But you pay them for it. Of course you ])ay them 
for it, after a fashion. You hire them to do your work 
at so much a day or so much "a job." But they do 
not contract to give you beauty for ashes. Bartering 
the oil of joy for mourning is no part of the carpenter's 
trade. Your garment of praise will not be set down in 
the bill. And even before you reach their work of 
supererogation, the money you pay them is no equiva- 
lent for the service they render you. What you furnish 
them is a few soiled and flimsy nigs, neither pleasant to 
the eye, nor good for food, nor to be desired to make 
one warm. What they furnish you is shelter, conven- 
ience, comfort, beauty, grace. Your bank-bills might lie 
in your purse till the world's end and you be none the 
better for them ; but what the carpenters have done for 
you rests before your eyes new every morning, fresh 
every evening — a thing of beauty and a joy forever. 

I hear it said sometimes that such a man is a great 
benefactor. lie gives work to so many pco])le. Not 
a bit of it — they give work to him. What he gives 
them is money. What they give him is woven cloths 
for raw cotton and wool — stately houses for unsightly 
heaps of brick and stone — winding ways, graveled 
paths, solid fences, fertile fields — form to substance, or- 
der out of chaos. 

What keeps me in heart toward my carpenters is that 
my money, after all, represents to them precisely what 



THE WONDEJiH AND WLWOM OF CAJU'ENT/iY. 57 

their work represents to mc. The reason why the iiias- 
ter-manufacturer, the large land holder, is not the hope- 
less beneficiary of his hired hands, is because the money 
which he pays does them the same good turn that their 
skill and industry do him. There is, strictly speaking, 
no call and no place for gratitude on either side. When 
my carpenter goes out of his line to build my fire, I am 
immeasurably thankful, but 1 am not thankful that he 
finishes my roofs and walls according to contract. At 
least I try hard not to be. That is his business. Jf 1 
lend him an umbrella to go home in the I'ain, he may 
thank me — if he can — when it is blue cotton, and broken 
in the ribs, and torn at the top, and turns wrong side 
out on the slightest pi'ovocation ; but he owes me no 
thanks for cmi)loying him. I did that for my own 
gratification, and he accepted the employment for his. 
All this seems very sim[)le, yet there is much misappre- 
hension. "I thank Mr. Smith for the work he has given 
me," I hear a laboring man say, "but I don't thank him 
for his money, for I have earned that." AVhy, tlieii, 
you are not to thank him for the work. If you have 
really earned the money, you arc quits. If he chose 
you because you were the best workman, or the most 
accessible, that is no occasion for gratitude. If he did 
it because you were poor, unable to get work, or to live 
without it, you may be thankful ; but that is very sel- 
dom the case. Men usually employ the best workmen 
they can get, without making any draft upon benevo- 
lence. 

On the other hand, says another, "I have worked for 
Mr. Smith all my life. I have been faithful, industri- 



f)8 TWKl.y/-: MILKS F/;OM A I.KMOy. 

ous, and prompt;" as if that established some claim on 
Mr. Smith's gratitude. Hut has he not \Kud you whh 
equal promptness and eonstancy ? Did you work lor 
him beeause you h>ved him? IT somebody else would 
have scoured you twice the j^ay for the same work, 
would you not have gone [o somebody else? If you 
could have been sure that by setting up in business 
yourself you could have earned nuirc money with no 
more labor, trouble, or risk, would you not have done 
it, quite regardless of ^Ir, Smith ? Jt is true that ]\[r. 
Smith has used your muscle freely, and would liavc 
done very ill without it; and when he sets up to be 
your beneiactor, 1 withstand him to the face, and tell 
him that he is no more your benefactor than he is your 
benelieiarv. Hut vou also have tVecly used his cajMtal, 
sagacity, and credit, and have, in a commercial sense, 
no claim on him beyond what is mentioned in the bond. 

" 'i'cn years ago," says my tViend the gas-}>ipe-maker, 
''a young man worked lor me who never could have 
made a mechanic! but he found he could buy and sell, 
and he went into the business of selling leather, ]\e- 
})ort has it that he made ten thousand dollars last year. 
I don't believe that a single man that worked at makinsr 
that leather made a thousand dollars. Durinsr the ten 
years T have worked steadily, adding to the wealth of 
the world, and haven't been able to accumulate a thou- 
sand dollars in all that time Skill iu tradiui?, in 

taking advantage of others, is the road to success.'' 

This is undoubtedly a fair statement, except, perhaps, 
the implied identity of "trading and taking advantage 
of others;" but what then? 



77/ A' WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CAUl'KSTUY. 59 

"Wliy, then," says my rriciul, intonsifying liis liard- 
slii[)S by i'ep(3lili()ii, "I tliiiilc I am ns iiiLellig'cnt a man 
as he. 1 know tliat I liavc got as much education, and 
I know I am a first-ratc workman at my trade; yet he 
makes ten thousand a year, and 1 with dilliculty g(;t a 
res];)ectable living." 

That may be, but whose fault is it? llcnv shall we 
induce liim to assume your difficulty and relinquish to 
you his income? 

"There is no remedy," sa3's my friend, with the en- 
ergy of despair. "The Creator of the world when he 
made it established this law. The strong shall consume 
the weak, and the strong have been robbers and thieves 
from that time to this. The poor and weak don't like 
it, and I can see but one way of escape: that is, become 
strong tliernselvcs, become robbers and thieves, for that 
is what it amounts to." 

Now here, under a rough shell, lies a kernel of truth, 
and of ultimate truth. Not by complaint, petition, or 
declamation can the weak csca[)e the j)enaltics of weak- 
ness, but by becoming strong. Strength is not plunder, 
but it is power. IMie weak arc not necessarily victims, 
but they often arc sufferers. Who is the robber when 
the trader gets ten thousand a year and the workman 
barely one? The young man confessedly could not be 
a mechanic, and could buy and sell. Was he wrong, or 
did he wrong any one, when he ceased trying to do 
what he could not do, and began doing what he could 
do? One man is as good a workman as another is a 
trader; but which demands the most or the highest 
skill? 'JMic workman works on dead matter, however 



60 TWULVU MILES FMOM A LEJilOK 

skillful he is — works by routine. The laws of wood 
and water, and metal and fire, are well known and un- 
chan2:eable. The work to be done to-morrow is the 
same that was done yesterday. But the trader deals 
with what are to human vision uncertainties. He must 
look the world over. He makes ten thousand this year, 
but he may lose twenty thousand next year. The am- 
bition of a foreign emperor, nay, the advent of a little 
caterpillar, may overthrow his plans and baffle his cal- 
culations. His mental faculties must be perpetually on 
the alert. A single error of judgment may precipitate 
fiital disaster. The workman may go on if he choose 
thinking of nothing, noting nothing, but the material 
that lies before him. Is it robbery, is it unjust, that the 
strain and stress of all the powers should receive a larger 
remuneration than the partial employment of a few ? 
that the absorption of mental faculties should be counted 
a thing of far greater value than the occupation of phys- 
ical faculties? When the trader loses ten thousand a 
year, does the workman complain that he loses nothing, 
or that his loss is as small as his j^rofit in proportion to 
his employer's ? 

And, again, if the young trader makes ten thousand 
to the workman's one, why does not the workman turn 
trader? The trading thief or robber can not prevent 
him. If he choose to leave his bench and set up a 
counting-room, the world is all before him where to 
choose. . The successful trader began on as small a cap- 
ital as the unsuccessful workman. He has no power to 
force men to buy or sell. He may, of course, lie ; doubt- 
less he often does lie ; but it is not an inherent part of 



THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 61 

the business. Trading is not necessarily taking advan- 
tage of others, any more than it is taking advantage of 
yourself, unless it means that every thing ought to stay 
where it is forever. The trader may be just as much a 
benefactor as the workman. If a poor widow kills her 
cow, or loses it by accident, she is far better off to have 
the leather-dealer's money than she is to retain the 
cow's hide. He does not rob her by buying it. He 
does not even take advantage of her any more than he 
gives advantage to her. He may, owing to her igno- 
rance, put her off with half price ; but that is cheating, 
not trading. So the shoe-maker puts cheap leather in 
one shoe and good leather in the other ; but that is not 
a part of shoe-making, it is cheating. When the leather- 
dealer sells his leather, he is not the benefactor or the 
beneficiary of his purchaser. In fact, I can not see why 
the leather-dealer is not adding as much to the wealth 
of the world as the leather-maker. Leather laid up on 
the shelf is not wealth; it is leather in circulation that 
is wealth. Take away leather-selling, and leather-mak- 
ing would quickly follow. Take away leather-sellers, 
and leather-makers would have a far harder time than 
they have now. It is because long trial has established 
the fact that, on the whole, it is better for producers to 
appoint some person to carry their produce to market 
than it is for each producer to leave his work and go to 
market himself, that these middle-men exist. It is be- 
cause, on the whole, good middle-men are more rare 
than good workmen, that middle-men are paid so much 
more than workmen. That workmen do not ostensibly 
appoint traders, does not affect the case. The supply 



62 TWELVB MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

of trade comes at the iloniand of ^York. One workman 
is just as free to leave his bench and turn trader as 
another. If he can not do it — if he docs not like it, or 
docs not feel able to succeed in it — it is no fault of the 
trader. It is a matter that lies between him and his 
Maker. A man may just as well complain of being- 
robbed of his iust rights because he has not the strength 
of a horse, the buoyancy of a bird, the swiftness of the 
wind, as because he has not the breadth of vision, the 
keenness of perception, the rapidity and correctness of 
judgment, necessary to constitute a successful trader. 
If these are to be compassed by his own ctlbrts, it is his 
own fault that he has them not. If they depend upon 
the Creative Will, who is to blame for the deficiency? 

In our country loose thinking upon matters of polit- 
ical economy has not yet been largely disastrous ; but 
over the sea the battle is fought with blood and lire and 
vapor of smoke. My friend who talks of traders as rob- 
bers and thieves is apparently not f:ir from the position 
of those Eed Eepublicans of London who avowed to the 
world, one Easter Sunday, "that the accumulation of 
property was robbery, and that those who accumulated 
it were not only thieves, but murderers." ^Mv friend's 
reason is that himself, a good workman, makes but hard- 
ly a respectable living, while the trader — a man of no 
more intelligence or education than himself — makes a 
fortune. To this it may, indeed, be said, "You, if you 
could do what the trader does, would receive the same 
returns;" but there are so many points which ought to 
enter into the comparison that one must be chary in ac- 
ceptip.g his conclusions. The money Avhich a man ac- 



THE WONDERS AND WIHD03I OF CARPENTRY. 63 

cumulates depends not only upon what be earns, but 
upon what he spends, and upon how he spends it. 1'wo 
men will work side by side in the same shop upon equal 
wages. One buys cigars and wine, frequents balls and 
billiards, hires horses and carriages, procures fine clothes 
for himself and his family, takes frequent holidays, and 
finds himself at the end of ten years no richer than at 
the beginning. Another abstains from all sensual in- 
dulgence, finds amusement in the society of his fam- 
ily, carefully invests his small surplusage every month, 
and at the end of ten years, without speculation, or any 
means except industry and prudent investment, is the 
owner of ten thousand dollars, and has besides lived a 
life as happy, and reared a family as comfortable, as re- 
spectable, as well educated, as his neighbor who bas 
spent bis all. Of course sickness or inevitable disaster 
may make a man's effort unsuccessful, but that is not 
robbery or thieving; and I know — for I have seen it 
again and again — that a good workman, by steady ad- 
herence to his trade, by forethought, economy, and a 
wise disposition of bis money, may not only earn a com- 
fortable living, but may lay up resources for bis old age, 
and leave a sufficient legacy to bis children. Let me 
see how a man and his wife manage tbeir earnings be- 
fore I pronounce robbery and plunder to be the cause 
of their impecuniosity. 

The self-denial, the rigid economy, the wise fore- 
thought, which many ricb men practiced before they be- 
came rich, and which was a part of the system whereby 
they became rich, is more than many poor people prac- 
tice all their lives. To walk when vou can not ride is 



(U TWKLVK .1///.A"N FKOM .1 /.A'.l/O.V. 

not soll\loni;il. Sv^ltMonial is to walk whoa yon onn 
vidi\ ;nul tlirifi is to tako tho nionov tor invosunont. 
Kxponditiuv is not o\travni;an*.v. Tho poor aiv olion 
nu>iv oxtnivagani than tho vioh. lnipn>vivlonoo doos 
woi^o for tho Ibnuor tlian ostontation tor tho kittor. 

It iv^ truo tltat tho intoUigonoo ot' tho worknian may 
bo givator than that of tho Irador. A man ignorant and 
ahnost stupid in litorarv, soionlitio, or jvsthotio mattors 
may bo suooovssful a^^ a Irador; but ho is always skillt'nl. 
Ho is koonly intolligont as to tho stato of tho markot. as 
to what will bo a gvHH\ objoot to tako hold oT. as to tho 
oomparativo valuo of stooks; and it is this koonnoss, 
this spooial intolliiivnoo, whioh is so handsomoly iv- 
wardod. It' tho workman will booomo similarly and 
equally intolligoi\t> ho, tvH\ will bo equally rowai\lod. 
.Hut to stand with lowoiMiig bivw and arms akimbo, atul 
muttor "thiol"' at\vl *Mvbbor/" is i\oithor hero nor there. 
Ho tnay, like his brother ol' Franoe, beeome a Kod l^e- 
yniblioan. without tho exouso whioh his brother of 
Kranoo onu plead ; but when he has aeeomplishod his 
end. and pix^porty is rodistributovl and trader and work- 
man nveivo by law tho same wage, it is a question 
whether ho will, on the whole, tind lite easier. 

"rultivated people," eonlinuos my tViend, "live on 
the industry of others. Oultivaiod people, you s;\y. ai\> 
what the country needvS. We don't need them in this 

}^;lrt of it„ at any rate, for and vieinity aiv ovei^ 

tlowing with them, atul a n\ore sellish or meaner elass 
ot' people don't exist," 

rmotioing on this sound and Sivlutary principle, it is 
to bo ho}>od. good friend, you aiv doing all you can to 



77//'; WONUF.ItH AND WISIXtM <j1'' CA HI'I'lNTIiY . fJO 

<liHCOUMl.';/i;inf;'; ,'ui'l .'uifjiliiluU; thin ffif-.an, H(;Ifl.-,[i, i'llo 
clasH, and to Htr(;n;M,li';n un'i honor your f,ouritry by 
prc'ujliiri;.^ uri'J practicing tli(; goHpcl of non-cultivation, 
Voij rnuKt never gf> to churcfi, for tlic clcrp^y arc noto- 
rioN;-;Iy mean, Kcl(i:-',}i, an^l ciiltiv-'itcl, la/ily loiiti;/in;.^ ir; 
wealth which thf;y have extorted from the jjainn oC their 
pcojde, riotounly living on th(; induHtry of otficrn. You 
rnuHt never attend concortH, for the concert in mad*; by 
perKoriH wlio liave cultivated their voices to tlic laKt de- 
gree by uninterrriitting indoI*;nec. You munt hear no 
lecturcH, for the lecturer, urdcHS ho i.s a m^-a-j poor one, 
nf;ver added ho rnucli as a gas- pipe to the world's 
wealth. You rnuHt not buy books or magazines or 
ncwHj>apers, illustrated or otherwise, for you are thereby 
countenancing the droning swarm of writers and artists 
who have drifted through college, and sauntered through 
a[)prenticeslii[), and iiave now fastened upon the hard- 
working mechanic, the pure and virtuous gas-piper, 
wlio hfis been really doing something for the world, and 
force him to the book-stall to buy u J/arpn'rH /iazar for 
ten Cf;nts, wliilc they themselves do nothing but scratch 
a wof)dcn block or make black marks on white paper, 
whicli noljody can eat, drink, or wear. You must not 
scrifl y'inv children to school, for you are therel^y not 
only fjam[)ering those bloated aristocratH who live on 
the irifluHtry of others, the mean, eiiltivated, and Kelfi.sh 
school-teachers, but you are directly rc-enforcing their 
ranks by turning your own eliildren into "cultivated 
pcoj)le;" nor must you have them taught at home, for 
in so doing you will only change the place and keep 
the jKiiri. You must denude your house of carpets and 



(U) TWKLVE MILES FEO.V A LKMOX. 

curtains, and pictures and looking-glasses, and paint 
and paper, lor they are all means of grace and "cultiva- 
tion." Nay, I do not know on what princi})le you can 
retain your gas-pipes, for we can be just as liealth}'^, and 
some say healthier, without them. People lived con- 
tented and died in peace before gas-pipes were thought 
of. They do not add to the world's wealth, exccj^t that 
mineral wrought into gas-pipes brings more money than 
mineral in the rough. But, just so, words wrought by 
those cultivated villains, the newspaper writers, into 
editorials, or by selfish, idle, cultivated novelists into 
stories, bring more money than words lying around 
loose in the dictionary ; and it is what cultivated peo- 
ple have done that makes your gas-pipes worth while. 
"When you have sent out of your house every thing 
which cultivated people have sent into it, you will have 
very little use for gas. "Whether, then, we look at the 
amount of vital force you put in your work, at the act- 
ual necessity of your work to the world, or at the hap- 
piness which your work brings to tlie world, we see no 
reason wdiy you, as well as the writer, the preacher, the 
orator, the singer, the trader, should not be reckoned in 
the ranks of those who live upon the industry of others. 
It is only when you have stcadilistly set your face and 
your children's laces toward the huts, nuts, and naked- 
ness of the noble savages from whom you descended, 
that you are living up to your principles, and advan- 
cing your country in the path of true glory. 

AVhen the relation between cmplo3'er and cmploved 
is further complicated by a relation between man and 
woman, our confusion becomes worse confounded. It is 



THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARrENTRY. G7 

difficult to keep the mercantile and the sentimental sep- 
arate. 

One of our stock stories, to illustrate the wickedness 
of the existing relations between man and woman, tells 
of a young woman who sought employment in a store. 
The owner offered her a certain sum per week. " That," 
said she, "will just pay my board, but what shall I do 
for clothes?" He made an insulting reply. Such is the 
total depravity of male employers. 

But why did the young woman lay herself open to 
insult? The man was a villain, but as long as she kept 
on proper ground he staid there too. When he had 
named his terms, it was for her to accept or decline, not 
to argue. It was no affair of his what she did with her 
money, or how she got her clothes. All that concerned 
him was the value to him of her services. When she 
began to consult him about her wardrobe, she at once 
abandoned commercial and assumed confidential rela- 
tions with him, and, as he was a bad man, he answered 
her according to his badness. There is nothing to show 
that the cloven-foot revealed itself till she furnished the 
opportunity. 

Men are worse than women. There can be little 
doubt of that; but sometimes I think their badness 
would be more smothered out of sight if women were 
more discreet — shall we say, more high-minded and 
iuia[)proachable? 

It is sincerely to be wished that the relations between 
employer and employed were more friendly; that each 
should see that their interests are not antagonistic. As 
men are not mere machines, but reasoning and emo- 



(IS rwtci.iF .\ni rs /••/.•ci/ .1 /.r.i/o.v. 

lioual nnmials, il. is a |mI\ that tln^ I'art .sliouKl nol l>o 
takni ail\anla.'\o o{\ and tlial thost' who aio hoiiml l>>- 
}-\("thrr by tios ol' Inisiiu'ss .shoiiKl not, also ho luuuul by 
hrarly muMl-l'oMowshii . I>ul {\\ow is no basin \'ov f>:oo(b 
folhnvship without a tlioiou;',h uiuh'istamhti;'; on bvMli 
siilos of I ho Jnstii'o ol" I ho oaso. So Ion,";, Itowovor, as 
ihofo is n\isap|n"ohonsion, iiaitatuni, anti i^':noranot\ iho 
ntosi, <Mili_!;hloMo»l and tlio most nobK' sliouKl bo iho 
tnost pationt. lunl oonoibatory. Ni>l, vn\ly Chiistianity, 
but national t>\istonot\ soonis lo riM|niro this. 

Thoio aio tnnos whon \\\o oast, soonis roihlonin;'; with 
tho dawn o[' iho poi'loot. day. Its ooniing snnshii\o slirs 
onr hoailH. 'IMio air is soil with its warmth, swoot with 
Us bahns, slimnlalin)>: with its bi\H':*.os. It is ploasant to 
\\\c, it is oasy to b** tolorant ; {\\c whoK^ oarih is ;';ralo 
lid. \\\\\ >',ray i;i\nvs tho anrvnal sky j^athor ai^ain 
tho K-advMi I'londs; and tho sharp winds tt^ll ns, and thi> 
baro hills ropoat. thai tho porl'ov'i ilay is yot far olV; and 
no man ran ti'll its oomin!,v. 

llit. wori> ovor lawful or possiblo to bo dishoartiaioil, 
(>no mio.ht bo ilishoailonod b\ a oiMtain balol'ul ('\ulla- 
lion ovor tho rhioago tiro. Nothing t^vor moro trnly 
showod till* brvMliorluuHl oi'man. tho oiumioss of human- 
ity, than \\\c spontanoous npiisin;\ ol" tho winld to holp 
llio smitton oity. Hut. aK>ns;' with it all thon* was an 
ovil porliMit. It was tlu> nndis«';uisovl rojoioini;' ol' Si^no 
of tin* pov>r i>viM- [\\c iK'struiMion aiwl ruin. Tho In-st. 
Iiro, tlioy said, was tho pov>r man's tb'o. This is tho rioh 
man's tiro. Now wo shall all bo poor togtMlior. \,cl 
thorn .soo how j^vhhI it is. 

It IS \\o\ tho i^noranoi* of poliliv'al v'OvMiomy ilisplayinl 



77//'/ WDNDI'llin ANh W/.'I/JDA/ <il'' UMll-lilNTIl V 



<;'.> 



ill iJiii! rcjoicm;' ii(»l, IJk; ciiIik; iiiiconi'.cioiiiiiK'i'.H l.lijil, 
tlio loHii '<(' l.lif, iicli i:i (|(jul>ly l.lio loHH o(* iJio ju^or, vvliicli 
rniik(!H il, liunciilitldc. ; l>ut, lJi<5 cIuhh (iitcliiig ic-vculcd, ll, 
mIiowh uh tliul, lJi<5 poor uro urniycd jif/iiitml, tlio ricJi, 
'I'licy f''<l iiol, l,li;i,l, w; !ii<; nil <jil,i/(;IiM of <j|i<5 COUnU'y, 
iiiciiibcr.". of one, ruiiiily, hiil- (;luHH<;H, liOHtil*; iti piufjor.c, 
(livi'lffl III iiilfiitHl,, niiUi;.';oiiiHl.i<; in K<!nlir/iMil.. 

It, MiiiU.fiM not, how huH(!l(;MH p.iicli ;i, r<c,liii(' i;i;iy lie, 
tlioilj-'li l;;iHi!lrMH il- ip. to ^•.^J^'^•y rip'lil,Miiii(|c<l |)(;i'l',ori, So- 
cirl.y could li;i,rdly v,y.'\n\, in wlii'',|i |,|i<! conditioni', r^C lill) 

r.lionld lj(! Iiioi*; <'(|i|;i,|j iiiort; (•<jiiil,'il)|c, lli.'iii III OIIIM. 

'j'ln! oh,".l.;ic,|cH prcMciil.cd by hivv, by /.'/(Vcinnifiit., l,o in 
dividn.'il f'lovvl.li, ftri! well nifli im(iiTr,cj)|,ihlc, \'fv\Mn\u\ 
I'lC'doiii i:i |)r,'i<'I.M;iill y iin hoiiiidid. N.'il.nn; u\u\\i: pi'- 
HfwihcH liniiliil.ion;!, A man in \)<h)V bncaui'.c Ik; lacl.H, 
Jihilil.y 1.0 h<; rich, not, licc,a,iii',<; li<; lac,l;H rjpjxH'l.unily. 
A man in ifiioranl, \)i-i'u.\\v.i: he lia;i not, iJic doiiic or ihc 
will l,o learn, nol, bccajiw; lie liaH in; ejianee l,o learn, A 
I'e.w are Ixnii l,o Hf|iia,|(»r and de</i;td;itioti ; hnl, il, \h iJie 
IJuill, ol'tJaiir |)a,reiil,n, nol, (jf naUona,! iiir,l,il,iil,ionH, 'I'liey 
are, v.o ill /;pit,(; of' nol, in eoiiHerjiience u\\ la.w and cnn- 
• ((III. In our cf^nnl.ry the, man of prinejplc, iriduHlry, 
l.liiill, iiil,ellig<!Hfj(!, nkill, i;', morally e.cri.'iin i.o he HuceeKK- 
I'lil III huHineHH and reHpeel,ed in HoeicLy. 

i'/til- 1-hal, Ui<} claHH wliieh rejoieeH over dekl,i ne.ijon in 
an uniiil,<!llip(orit, liiithrilly ehiHH, Ih uiA, [irjrtineni,. The 
danj/or licH in t,Ii<; liu:!, that, Hiudi a (shiKH <;xiHl,H, II, in no 
rnalt/jr thai tlieir hoHtility iw faoiindlc^HH, The fioint i« 
U) do away with the lioHtility, it heJif^oveM the rieli, 
tin; well lo do, the, i/idepefidcnl,, not r^nly to help tho 
weak t,o he ntjony, hnt l,o inKpire, them with fiiendlineiif, 



70 TWELVE MILES FliOM A LEMOX 

while the}' are Aveak. The task is no easy one. The 
ignorant classes in our country are, I suppose, chiefly 
foreigners. Probably, of all the family servants in Chi- 
cago who turned upon their mistresses after the fire with 
impertinence and insubordination, not one was a native- 
born American. AVith these foreigners all the tradi- 
tions of the past are so different from oure, the blood of 
their generations has made them so unlike ns, that it 
is difficult to come into the circle of their sympathies. 
Difficult, but not impossible. 

In this matter the wisest political economy is at one 
with the highest religious principle. Eeligion no more 
strenuously enjoins Christian brotherhood, than the safe- 
ty of the State demands social brotherhood. Caste is not 
only unscriptural, but unsafe. lie who throws down a 
single barrier between rich and poor, he who originates 
or cultivates between them sympathy of taste or feeling, 
serves the State no less than humanity. The good work 
is not to be wrought by sowing false principles and 
pleasing fancies. Law is inexorable. You may tell the 
suffering thousands of great cities that the accumulation 
of property is a crime; that the bequeathing of proper- 
ty is a monstrosit}'^ ; that all property should be equal- 
ly divided among the population once in seven years. 
You may send a ray of hope, a thrill of joy, into their 
heavy hearts; but the darkness will shut down again. 
For, first, your property is not going to be divided once 
in seven years ; and, secondly, if it were, there would 
speedily be no property to be divided, and the last state 
of these people would be worse than the first. Yet 
there are men who are reckoned friends of the poor, 



THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 71 

and held in honor by the poor, on no stronger grounds 
than this. With idle fancies they lure on their victims 
in the same evil path which has already led them into 
sore distress. 

Yet there are many ways in which, without trenching 
on tlie great laws of social economy, a pleasant senti- 
ment can be engendered, and real benefit conferred. In 
nature there is no grace. In revelation there is found 
room for grace. We are not of nature, but of grace. 
A great deal of our life is logic, but there is still some- 
thing left for speculation. Prompt wages, contracts ful- 
filled, supply the demands of justice ; but above and be- 
yond this lies the beautiful domain of human sj^mpa- 
thy and unity. 

A waste of ungainly gravel, standing between two 
city buildings in the Lemonia, had been changed into a 
lovely garden-plot, bordered with, turf, blooming with 
flowers, I watched it with delight for many days, nev- 
er going past without receiving its smile of colors, its 
breath of sj^ices. But one morning my garden-spot 
went back into the wilderness. A high board fence, 
impassable, impenetrable, shut me out from my lilies 
and roses — shut out, along with me, the old woman with 
the orange basket, the strawberry-man, the hand-organ 
bands, the school children, all the little and big barefoot 
boys and girls, all wanderers and wayfarers. I did not 
murmur. But who is the gainer? Do the roses open 
any wider, or are the buds any sweeter for their seclu- 
sion? True, the owner can come out among his odors 
and blossoms unseen of men, as he surely has the right 
to do. But woe is me for the scores of weary feet that 



72 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

linger no more, and the wistful eyes that know not to 
complain. I bethink nic of a rich man who built him- 
self a stately house, and laid out spacious grounds, plant- 
ing them with trees, adorning them with shrubbery, en- 
livening them with fountains; but by no hedge nor 
fence other than a slight and almost imperceptible 
boundary-liuc would he be circumscribed withal. " I 
don't ivant to be shut in," he would exclaim. "I want 
to look out upon the world, and I want the world to 
look in upon me. I want the workmen, going to their 
morning work, the shop-girls and the office-boys, to see 
my grass and my trees, my fountains playing and my 
birds singing. That is what I liad them for." So the 
city goes thronging by, and the milliner and mantua- 
maker partake the dew and freshness of his morning; 
and all the people own the beautiful hill, without 
thought or care. 

When the owner of the factory has paid wages to 
the men, women, and children whom he employs, his 
technical obligation to them ceases. Strictly speaking, 
they are mere working machines; he is an employing 
or paying machine. How they spend their time out of 
his mills i.>% no alfair of his. "Whether they live com- 
fortably, respectably, virtuously — whether they slave 
or starve — he has no responsibilit3\ The employed has 
no right to look to the employer for an}^ thing but the 
money which he agreed to pay. 

The reason why a strict adherence to the letter of this 
law does not always work well in practice is that you 
never can count on men as machines. Calculations al- 
ways fail unless men are reckoned as human, sensitive. 



THE WONDEltS AND WISDOM OF CAIiFENTRY. 73 

intellectual beings. Whether they be rich or poor, 
learned or ignorant, they are all tuned to the same 
key. The girl in the kitchen is very unlike her mis- 
tress in the parlor, but also very like her. Upon her 
presses the same hunger for society, for mental activity, 
for moral sympathy — the same love of beauty, the same 
affection for kindred, the same religious sentiment. As 
in water face answcrcth to face, so the heart of man to 
man, and woman to woman. 

It is ignorance of this fact, or misapprehension of its 
bearings, which goes far to prevent the kindly relations 
which should exist between employer and employed — 
between persons of a common nature and common in- 
terests. If the untutored Irishwoman who exults over 
the destruction of her mistress's house and property 
should see herself, in consequence, at once turned out 
of house and home, and reduced to beggary, she would 
exult no more. She would sec that her mistress's loss 
was her own. Society has become so compact and com- 
plicated that the loss is too minutely subdivided to at- 
tract Bridget's notice ; but it is none the less there, and 
is just as truly hers as if she bore the whole brunt of it 
on her broad shoulders. When the workman earns his 
two, three, and four dollars a day, and sees his proprie- 
tor gathering in his tens and perhaps thousands a year, 
it seems to him an unequal and impartial distribution 
of awards. If the workman could suddenly be set in 
the proprietor's place ; if he could see by what painful 
steps the latter had toiled to his present elevation ; if he 
could see what wide horizons had to be scanned, what 
multitudinous features comprehended, remembered, re- 

4 



74 TWFLVi: JUILES FROM A IFMOX. 

producod; if bo could I'ool the tumult of anxieties, the 
magnitude of issues, the perplexity of agencies, the bit- 
terness of mistakes, the responsibility of losses, he would 
see that the carriages and carpets of the proprietor are 
but a very small part of his establishment. There is a 
revei"se side. 

It is impossible for the subordinate to see thiiig-s as 
the principal sees them. If he could do so, he would be 
tlie principal. But he can cert^iinly be made to feel 
that he is to his proprietor, as well as to himself, some- 
thing more than a machine. There are factory masters 
who are not only the emplo3'ei'S, but the personal friends 
of their operatives. Without trenching upon their in- 
dependence or their personal dignity, the proprietor 
does occupy toward them something of the attitude of 
a patriarch, a sovereign. He provides commodious and 
tasteful dwelling-houses, lie beautities his grounds, and 
even his factories, lie opens a reading-room and libra- 
ry, procures lecturei"s, visits schools, encourages con- 
certs, tableaux, and dramas. His lamily live in no re- 
mote sphere, apart and unapproachable, but they, as 
well as he, dwell among their own people. They cast 
in their lot with the dailv toilers. His wife and dauoh- 
ters know the community, their circumstances, their 
character, their children. Not with condescension, but 
with sympathy, they are always ready for advice, for 
aid, for the right word in the right place. There is on 
the other side no malice, no envy of superior position, 
for it is seen to be onh' a source and centre of grace. 
And of all that proprietor s investments in stocks and 
lands, in i-oads and ships, none, I venture to s;iy. bring 



THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 75 

him in larger returns of happiness than the money and 
time and thought he expends in enlarging and illustra- 
ting the lives of his workmen, over and above the wages 
he has contracted to pay them. It is not a hard duty. 
I might almost say it is no duty at all. It is a pleasure. 
It makes life agreeable and interesting every day. 

And all the while it is doing this for the individuals 
immediately concerned, it is helping to solve the great 
problem of capital and labor ; it is helping to heal the 
old feud between rich and poor. It is not only patri- 
otic, but cosmopolitan work ; for no nation is alone con- 
cerned, but the whole world. 

So the unambitious and humble woman who makes 
of her maid-of-all-work a friend is not only securing 
good service, but is fighting her country's battles with 
weapons of peace. We hear in all directions the clash 
of the conflict. Workmen and workwomen are strik- 
ing everywhere for higher wages and less work, with 
what success it is impossible to say. Because a class of 
mechanics wrest from their employers ten hours' wages 
for eight hours' work, they are by no means successful. 
Because an employer secures for two dollars work 
which is worth three, he has not necessarily come off 
conqueror. The laws of trade are as uncontrollable as 
the laws of the sea. If either employer or employed 
make an unnatural advantage in one direction, trade 
will restore the balance by a corresponding disadvan- 
tage in another place. Only the philosopher may dis- 
cern the relation of cause and effect ; but every shoe- 
maker on his bench feels the effect, though he may call 
it by another name. 



76 TWELVE MILES FJROM A LEMOX 

But he who lias planted his fortune on the good-will 
of his people has built his house npon a rock. Fire 
and flood may rage around him, but he has property 
which neither fire nor flood can sweep away. It is not 
always an easy thing to overcome prejudice, to disarm 
hostility, even to convince of friendliness ; but the work 
is good work, missionary work, whatever event attend 
it. It is a Christian service to be the benefactor of your 
rough, ignorant servant, even if she remain to her life's 
end unthankful and nnholy. It is a good thing to pro- 
vide opportunities for reading to a community of young 
men, even though they attribute it to nothing but self- 
interest on 3'our part. I know no precept of the Bi- 
ble that says, Do good to them that appreciate it, and 
benefit those who will thank you for it. But, as a 
general thing, such services are in a degree appreciated. 
Among our own American-born people they are intel- 
ligently and gratefully appreciated. A wise and gen- 
erous man at the head of a manufacturing people 
holds a position which a prince might envy. More- 
over, I suppose that to God is a man responsible not 
only for what he docs, but for all that he nn'ght do. 
Not only for his achievements, but his opportunities, 
shall a man give account in the Day of Judgment. "We 
are answerable for all those with whom we are brought 
in contact, and exactly in proportion to the closeness of 
the contact. Of this each must be his own judge. No 
rule can be laid down. It is onl}- to feel human broth- 
erhood. 

I remember, in a gay company, an amusing story was 
told of a man, unftimiliar with the usages of society, 



THE WONDERS AND WISDOM OF CARPENTRY. 77 

who mistook the finger-bowls for goblets. It was no 
violent or stupid error. There is nothing in the ap- 
pearance of either to reveal its mission to the unin- 
spired mind. But one gentleman, the gayest of the 
gay, exclaimed quickly and sincerely, " Oh ! that was 
too bad ; because some time he will find it out, and be 
extremely mortified." 

The quickness of apprehension and generosity of feel- 
ing which enable you on the instant to " put yourself 
in his place " are the surest guides to wise and kindly 
action toward others. It is for the rich, the learned, the 
great, not to isolate themselves in their wealth, their 
enjoyment, even their cares; but to live an open and 
bountiful life ; to hold themselves in harmony and sym- 
pathy with their kind; to soothe sensitiveness, and al- 
lay suspicion, and disarm hostility, even though all may 
be unreasonable; to disseminate light to the darkened 
and rest to the heavy-laden ; to use their superiority, 
of whatever sort, for the emolument of the less favored, 
and not simply for their own upbuilding; to bring 
with their money and their power peace on earth, good- 
will to men. 

Nobody has a right to forbid the proprietor of real 
estate to erect a fence as high as Haman's gallows. He 
earned his money, or he inherited it; he, at least, owns 
it, and he shall appropriate it as he chooses. If he will 
to seclude himself from his kind, there is none to say 
him nay. This is logical ; but, behind the logic, how 
came he by the qualities that accumulate fortune? He 
is thrifty, but whence came his thrift? He practiced 
wise and wide self-denial when his now poverty-stricken 



78 TWELVE MILES FEOM A LEMOX 

neighbor was indulging in riotous and ruinous prodi- 
gality. But how came he by that lofty power of self- 
denial ? Where did he get those eves, whieh saw the 
end from the beginning? Whence those high traits — 
independence, self-reliance, moderation in all things, 
quick perception, ready judgment — which have made 
him a master among men, while his neighbor walks 
wavering and feeble, a servant of servants unto his 
brethren ? These are questions which no man can an- 
swer, lie inherited his characteristics from his ances- 
tors, but did he choose his ancestors? A man carves 
his own fortunes, as he proudly asserts, but the fine eye 
for form and the clever hand for skill — these he did not 
make. At most, these he only trained. I do not say 
that, legally, he owes aught to his weaker brethren ; 
but will he not gladly, as an instinctive thank-olYering, 
bestow upon them as much as possible of all that his 
powers have brought him? He had somewhat — call 
it talent, genius, perseverance, self-control, sagacity — 
which enabled him to watch and work and wait, which 
has brought him at length ftime and fortune. To bid 
him now divide his goods among the people is to lay 
the axe at the root of all healthy trees. But if he, thank- 
ful for his great endowments, and filled with love to his 
kind, shall long to have all men rejoice in his light ; if 
he seek that his prosperity shall be the good luck of 
all ; if he fervently desire that they shall share in his 
rewards who could not share in his toil ; if his love 
shall wisely dispense what his wisdom concentrated ; if 
his great question be, not how shall he segregate, but 
how communicate himself — why, then, I say, happy is 



THE WONDEIiS AND WISDOM OF VARPENTRY. 79 

that man. He is a radiating centre of life and joy, lie 
is rich, but lie binds to himself tlae poor by indissoluble 
bonds. So far as he is known and comprehended, he 
is beloved. All his character and influence are given, 
unconsciously jKjrhaps, but effectively, to the healing of 
the great feud between high and low. He does not 
waste time in sickly patronage, in sentimental charity, 
in namby-pamby attitudinizing; but is bis hearty, hon- 
est, cheery self, and desires every man to be the same. 
He strengthens like the sun by his own free and natural 
shining. He strengthens not so much by supplying 
outward prop as inward power. It is not what he be- 
stows in charity, but what he stimulates by sympathy 
and sustains by inspiration. It is not hard for this rich 
man to enter the kingdom of Heaven. He is there al- 
ready, for the kingdom of God is within him. And of 
such is that kingdom. 



80 TWELVE MILES FIWM A LEMON, 



V. 

SCIENCE, PUBE AND PRA CTICAL. 

There is one class of men to whom every one seems 
inclined to give whatever they ask, and that is the men 
of pure science. Every one is aware that Professor 
Pierce stands at the head of all living mathcmatici. It 
is not necessary to know what he is up to. Probably 
not a dozen people in the world do know. But no one 
has any doubt that mathematics is a thoroughly inno- 
cent calling. You open his book which represents the 
last results that his science lias yet reached, and you see 
a manuscript volume that looks very much like the ci- 
phering-books which the boys and girls used to make 
in the village schools. You learn to your astonishment 
that the product of two factorially liomogeneous ex- 
pressions which does not vanish, is itself factorially 
homogeneous, and its faciend name is the same with 
that of its facient, while its facient name is the sa,inc 
with that of its faciend. You are, of course, startled by 
this assertion, but you are somewhat soothed at seeing 
it followed up only by common-looking "sums" in sim- 
ple addition, agreeably diversified by the childish game 
of " tit-tat-tay," or an occasional inoilcnsive equation. 
As you turn leaf after leaf, and reflect that the Presi- 
dent and all his Cabinet, that the General Court of Afas- 
sachusetts, that not even Caleb Cashing knows enough 



SCIENCE, PURE AND PliACTKJAL. gl 

— I do not s;iy lo write such a book, bi.it ho iruicli as 
to read it after it is written — you can only exclaim, 
Allah il Allah! The glory of a nation which can pro- 
duce a man who can produce a book that nobody can 
read I Now, when such a man says to Congress, "I 
wish to ascertain what the results will be if K''=:0. 
Give mc an appropriation for that purpose," all that 
Congress need reply is, " Uow large an appropriation?" 
"Fifty thousand dollars," says my mathematician, for 
instance; and is he not worthy of it? When Professor 
Agassiz says, "In the centre of the South American 
wilderness, far up the Amazon, I suspect there is a fish 
an eighth of a millionth of an inch long, which I have 
never seen, and which, if he is the beast I take him to 
be, will fill the gap that yawns in my ichthyological 
chain ; will you please send me thither in a squadron ?" 
we would have him sent instantly, horse, foot, and dra- 
goons. To be sure, most of us would not know that 
fish-bone from any plebeian trout's anatomy, and can 
not see in the least of what consequence it is whether 
K" equals O or not; but that is the beauty of it. In a 
country so bent as ours on matei-ial, tangible products, 
it is a wholesome corrective to have here and there a 
man who loves a fish for the fish's own sake, and not 
for its weight at the fish-fiakes or its profits at the pro- 
vision stoi'cs. We shall never pre-empt the North J'ole 
if we find it, but it is pleasant to know that there is a 
North Pole. Commerce can serve itself very little of 
the North-west Passage, but much is gained when we 
have learned that we can not use it. 

And, after all, the uselessness of scientific research is 
4-x- 



82 JirAV-IA' MILKS FKOM A LhMOX. 

but a pleasing dream. In fact, the results of science 
seem to be the basis of art. You may scorn Professor 
Agassiz's fishes, but they will be sure to rise up in judg- 
ment against you. You may give the cold shoulder to 
Professor Pierce's K* and O's, but it is an algebraical 
romance. Stars rise and set, suns fire and fade, accord- 
ing to those inllexible little letters. Of no consequence 
whether K" does or does not equal O! AVhy, if K" 
were greater than O. yonder madcap of a comet, that is 
content now to give us a frisky tlirt with his tail. \YOuld 
let drive at us head lii-st. and shoot through us like a 
bullet, sending the wounded earth staggering up against 
^fars, which, in it3 turn, would fall into Jupiter, which 
would at once break up the rings of Saturn, like any 
honest Internal Eevenue Commissioner; or perhaps the 
earth would shatter into ten thousand little pocket 
earths, scampering around among the dignilied planets 
like snow-llakes in a whirlwind; and then what be- 
comes of your appropriation bills? No, my country- 
men, unless you want the whole solar svstem to go to 
pieces, you will do well to give Professor Pierce, and 
all other wise men, ample room and verge enough to 
cipher out their O K's in peace and quietness. 

They say that men of science have their little tills 
like men of nescience. It is difiicult to believe it. Im- 
agine the provocation that could cause hot blood over a 
faetorially homogeneous idemfaciend, vanishing at that ! 
Fancy a tailing out between the jaw of an ichthyosaurus 
and the thigh-bone of a megatherium ! And how un- 
wise to let your angry passions rise over the proprietor- 
ship of any discovery, when your Great Falls hiero- 



HCIENfJE, PURE AND PR A (JTWAL. 83 

glyphs were photograplied off a shingle in Philadelphia, 
and your Cardiff Giant was buried between two days! 
Surely science docs not tend to petty disputations. She 
goes off on a false scent sometimes, but her search is al- 
ways for truth. She deals with realities. She explores 
the eternal records. All things of to-day arc flitting 
compared with the ages whose trace she seeks with un- 
tiring eye. Nothing is unimportant, for the little as 
well as the great has left its foot-prints in the rocks. 
The vestiges of creation are the patter of the rain-drops 
as well as the tread of leviathan. Selfishness and small- 
ness are lost in this noble pursuit of the great, the van- 
ished, the silent unknown. 

And yet when Paul so heartily counsels Timothy to 
avoid profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of 
science falsely so called, the unregcnerate heart within 
us thrills responsive in spite of our loyalty to Professor 
Pierce. Ilernembering how much we have painfully 
learned, only to be required painfully to unlearn, what 
would be left, we dubiously ask, if out of our science 
should be taken all that which is falsely so called. 

"Why does the bill hit upon ninety-five millions?" 
asked one Representative of his neighbor, when Con- 
gress was discussing a bill for the Extension of the Cur- 
rency. 

"I don't know," was the reply, "unless because the 
earth is ninety -five millions of miles from the sun — dol- 
lar a mile." 

Is not a great deal of our scientific lore similarly val- 
uable ? The ocean, say the wise men, grows denser and 
denser the deeper you dive, till it upbears Qwary burden, 



8-i TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

and the lost ships aiul the dead men siidc no more, but 
lie unresting on its luupiiet bosom. And when you 
have assimihited and survived the horror ol' this awful 
sepulehre, another prophet arises, and proclaims and 
proves that as the ocean grows more dense, compressed 
are all things cast into its dejiths. So the ships go down 
to the bottom of the sea, and the dead men lie tranquil- 
ly in coral caverns and grottoes more beautiful tlian art 
can sculpture, and there lie givetli his beloved sleep. 
Under the lead of the wise men, we have peopled all' 
the whirling worlds. We have aimed at the moon with 
our telescopes — we have even measured out to the 
moon-men the size of the smallest tower we would con- 
descend to look at, and have told them where to place 
it if they wish us to see it. And now, lo! the moon- 
men have the laugh on us, for, say the astronomers, they 
struck their tents ages ago as silently as AVashington 
stole away from Long Island, and left only a scarred, 
sullen, deserted, irreparable ruin, which we have all this 
time been staring at as the happy home of our nearest 
neighbors ! 

But }ierhnps the astronomers of the next age will 
bring them back again ! 

In the warm and ]ileasant weather, lingering under 
the apple-trees, that have busily and cheerfully repaired 
the ravages of the canker-worm ; lounging on the thick 
and verdant turf, which in mid-August is green with the 
greenness of June; w'atching between the leaves, scarce 
astir, the deep blue sky from which the swift, incessant 
lightning has burned every speck of vapor, every trace 
of impurity, we arc easily won over to a fierce and sav- 



SCIENCE, rUUE AND J'JiACTICAL. 85 

age summer. But fierce and savage some summers arc, 
though on this sunny nooiuhiy it roars us so gently 
that we foi'gct how angrily storms may thunder along 
tlie months, rumbling, rattling, ci'ashing, day and night. 
Who can unfold the trouble in the skies? If a change 
is accomplishing in the surface of the sun, do the sun- 
dwellers know it? How much alteration can the spheres 
stand without suH'ci'ing? We have been all our lifetime 
subject to bondage, through fear of the comets that were 
careering through the heavens; and now, it seems, we 
liave been hit a thousand times, and never knew it! A 
saucy comet whisks its tail in our faces, and we do not 
so much as wince. It dashes head foremost against the 
steady-going earth, and we only say, "What a lovely 
haze of Ilelvellyn veils the hills to-day I" N:iy, the poor 
comet, the wild water-sprite, the unsouled Undine of the 
skies, fails and falters and falls to pieces, and we feel no 
shudder. The comet that was expected does not ap- 
pear, a few little meteors flash, a red-hot stone or two 
drops upon our globe — that is all we know. Have a 
thousand such comets fallen into the fiery envelope of 
the sun ? Have any wandering worlds finally given up 
searching for their lost way, and dropped exhausted into 
tho photosphere, adding to the flame that warms our 
world? Certainly something has stirred the solar fire. 
We know it, if the sun-folk are not aware. If that cen- 
tral orb be indeed the heaven of heavens, its happy 
denizens feel no disturbance. But even if it be, like 
ours, the residence of a race that is as yet in an early 
stage of development, perhaps they dwell securely on 
that black inner sun which peeps here and there through 



S(> TW£Lyi: MILES FROM A LKMOX. 

the radiance, and Nvliioh ^vo call sun-spots. Docs the 
photosphere turn to thciu its shady side, or are they so 
orgaiiized as to bask in the photosphere just as \Ye do, 
only a little farther oiV? We love their sunshine nine- 
ty -live millions of miles away. Perhaps they take their 
sun-baths at arms-length. 

But we may add in an aside, they must be more easi- 
ly suited than we. For yeai*s that part of the heavenly 
system Nvhieh is called New England has sulfered from 
drought. \Vhen the celestial inliuences interfere with 
my butter-box, I know it. Long time the cry has been : 
'•Can't make much butter this year. Pastures so dry, 
cows all dry up.'' Yesterday, in the drenching rain, 
came the familiar chant: "Can't make much butter this 
year" (I pricked up my ears). ''So much wet, can't 
get no cream on the milk !'' 

Heave your magniticent and magncsian billows, oh! 
tumultuous and wiathful sun; lire us up to scorching 
jMMut, cool us with sheets o( rain, purity us with your 
lightnings, and deafen us with vour thunders; but do 
not flatter yourself that you can conciliate a bold yeo- 
manry, our country's pride. "We have cut our eye- 
teeth, and are not to be cajoled by a thunder-shower. 
Kevcrtheless, I observe that, while the earth rcniaineth, 
whatever becomes of seed-time and harvest, whether the 
bow bo set in the cloud or whether there's no rain left 
in heaven, so sure as Aurora scattere the humid shad- 
ows from the skies, and Saturday rises with the first 
Kons, so sure comes my butter, yellow and sweet and 
undiminished. 

But the thunder-showers arc terrilic. If we were liv- 



SCIENCE, PURE AND PRACTICAL. 87 

ing in Central America, wc should expect lizards, and 
centipedes, and tornadoes, and all Central Aineiican 
ways and weathers. In the temperate zone we count 
on temperance, and have not schooled ourselves for such 
license of the heavens. A moderate and reasonable tem- 
pest, coming on a sultry afternoon, sending its compli- 
ments seasonably, and clearing into a splendid sunset 
and a starry evening — this we make up our minds to, 
and encounter with fortitude; but to have a cloud drop 
down plump on your apple-trees, stay there for hours, 
go pop, pop, pop, like a Brobdignagian pistol, the 
whole time, then disentangle itself, make as if it would 
sail away, and so lure you to sleep, only in an hour to 
be awakened by a rumble and a grumble, and find that 
rogue of a cloud back again in your apple-trees, pop, 
pop, popping his pistol, and setting your room alight 
with red-and-blue fire for a week at a time — why, that 
is another thing! 

It is all very easy to take a spectroscope and tell what 
the universe is made of, which nobody can deny. You 
may speak great swelling words of progress, and ex- 
pound the thunder-storms in sesquipedalian dialect, dis- 
turb the photosphere, and throw up oceans of magne- 
sium around the sun, to account for our thermometer 
gone mad. You may announce as authoritatively as 
you please that the smallest spot on the sun is fifty bill- 
ions of miles in diameter, or that Neptune consists chief- 
ly of hydrocianic acid, and I can only make great eyes 
at you, and get my living by day's work all the same, 
while you go up and down in the newspapers for a sa- 
vant, become an honorary member of all the learned 



88 TWKl.VK MilJ^S FKOM A iJiWO.V. 

si:>cietii\^, and wag a tail to vour luuuo twomy lotioj-j? 
long. But wlion it comes to practiojvl nvailability, it is 
Yonr turn to make groat ovojn \Vhon leaving the stai"s 
and the gases, eentral tires and supren\e oilier, nyo de- 
s^.vnd into the ivgion ollunnan lite and oK^ervution, wV- 
ethY sho\YS a tVight ful tendeney to wabble. 1 f she can not 
invent a lightning ivd strong enough to keep us iVoni 
l>eing thunderstruek, and it" we are to have our houses 
burned over our heads in broavl daylight by the unknown 
ineeuvliarios ot* the spheres, what has she to boast ot"? 

The main laet we all know. Lightning will follow 
the path oi' least resisianee. It is a la/.v lellow, for all 
its wild ways. It is no pioneer, atul never goes otV in 
a tangx?nt unless obliged to do so. If, then, you will 
make for it a highway from the watei"s whieh are above 
the firmament to the watere whieh atv under the tir- 
mament, you may ivckou on its peaeeful transit. Inii 
praetioaliy theiv aiv so many toll-gj\tos on this turnpike 
that it amounts to a closed rc>ad. If the ii"on track 
stops short of the nether waters, you are but drawing 
the lightning on your own head. Nay, even a falling 
leaf, they tell us, lodgvd against the rod, will throw tho 
electric train from the track, to scatter ruin through tho 
house. So it stands : 

1. A perfect Hghtning-iv>d is a pen'eet sateguanl. 

2. A perllvt lightning-ivd is next to an impossibility. 
o. An imperfect lightning-rod invites the tluid. Oh ! 

wheiv shall rest be found? 

In the meeting-house, says the man of science; but 
he is also a clergyman, and his testimony is without 
weight, because \inder bias. He says that chuix^hcs are 



HCIENCJ!!, rUJtJ'J AND J'UACTICAL. 80 

never 8truck ; and, when accused of "nljop," expluiriH 
that the Kpires act an conductf^rH, and that high houKcs 
in thickly-settled cities arc always exempt. 1 question 
his premises; but the world is wide, and I can not at 
this moment disprove his negative. I know there was 
once a village set on a rock, and the professor of science 
made allegulion that it never had been, and never couhJ, 
would, or should be thunderstruck, by reason of its 
position ; and before the young summer was old, down 
came a thunder-bolt and shivered his theory to atoms. 

Let the lightning play its fantastic tricks, says an ig- 
norant but devout Ijclievcr; we shall yet discover its 
secret, '^i'he world long suspected itself to be going 
round. It was left f^r our later days to prove it by the 
greater wear of the eastern rail on all railroads running 
north and south. As the earth is constantly whirling 
from west to east, of course it throws the train more 
heavily on the eastern rail, and Wisdom is justified of 
her children. 

But meanwhile the unwearied lightning gleams on, 
just as fresh each day as if it were then flashing its 
first fury. And the violently fearsome betake them- 
selves to feather-beds, and fall ill with irresistible ter- 
ror ; and the less affected lie on sofas, and try to read ; 
and even the drcadnaughts sit quietly and count one, 
two, three between the flash and the report; and, just 
as you begin to think the worst is over, and Faint-heart 
ventures to leave the feather-bed and gaze wistfully 
from the window for light in the west, flash go the skies 
again, crack goes the pistol, and back darts the deer to 
her trusted covert. 



90 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

I have a chimney wliicb I would fain convert into a 
cistern, and I call in vain upon the learned, far and 
near, to answer me the simple question : How many 
cisterns of water can there be in a box as big as a brick 
chimney torn down ? Response is none, for the ques- 
tion is a practical one. You can measure the sun, hit 
or miss. A few millions of miles, more or less, will 
never be detected; but if my water-works run dry, ruin 
and disgrace impend. You do well not to commit 
yourself 

So, as the former said to his boys, I will even try it 
myself. We boast of our educational facilities in Amer- 
ica, nor need we fear the bigot's rule while near the 
church spire stands the school, and all that. I am an 
American citizen, and surely 1 ought to be able to ci- 
pher out a cistern witli the bricks before me. I wanted 
it eight feet long, eight feet wide, and six feet deep. 
But then came a drought, and I deepened it two feet. 
Then, as the drought grew sore, I extended my cistern 
in my mind's eye, Horatio, two feet in all directions, 
and then the man came and said he made them round 
after the similitude of a pot. Very well. In our en- 
lightened age and free country, we ought not to find it 
impossible to put a round man in a square place, and 
the problem was to make a round cistern big enough to 
hold ten feet long, ten feet wide, and ten feet deep. 
Come up, now, common schools, free institutions, man- 
hood suffrage, and tell me how big it must be. I take 
down Greenleaf's arithmetic. Seventeen hundred and 
twenty-eight inches make one foot. Plain sailing. Is 
there any thing anywhere that tells how many gallons 



SCIENCE, PURE AND PRACTICAL. 91 

to a foot? Yes, ale gallon, two hundred and eighty- 
two; ■wine gallon, two hundred and thirty-one. But 
my cistern is not to hold ale, and I am no Duke of 
Clarence to drown myself in Malmsey wine. What I 
want to know is how many gallons of water can I get 
into my round cistern ten feet square, and Greenleaf 
does not know; and as for making a globe out of a 
cube, Greenleaf stares at it precisely as Sam Weller 
stared at his father in the court-room — that is, he looks 
the other way. You would think he never heard of a 
cube or a globe. 

The ages of hapless infancy that we have all lavished 
on arithmetic might well draw tears such as angels 
weep, and the very first time in my life that arithmetic 
had an opportunity to be of use to me, it all dropped 
apart. It is an ingenious enough science to torment 
innocent and helpless children with, but it can not build 
a cistern. I must toss my mathematics aside, lay off 
my garland and singing robes, go down meekly to my 
waiting workmen, and, instead of the scientific formula 
with which I had intended to awe them, say like a 
dullard, "Keep digging till you have made a hole big 
enough to put all the bricks in out of the chimney, 
which is a hundred and fifty years old, and large in 
proportion." 

And I have a beautiful cistern, no thanks to science, 
but there is nobody in the heavens above, or the earth 
beneath, or the waters under the earth, not even the 
men that made it, who can tell how large it is. With 
Universities, and Smithsonians, and Polytechnic Insti- 
tutes in full blast, the only way to measure off your cis- 



«)2 TWELVE MIL I :s Fh'OM A l.h'.UOX. 

It'i'ii is li)buiUl a cliiiniioy, and tluMi kiuu-k it, down and 
(.'ounl, []\c. brii'ks. And wo jM'al.o of Scicnco! 

.Hut l*aul and I add undor our broalli, '' l*\ilsely ho 
callod." 

I should liko. 1() know, toi>, if ihevo is any jum'sou 
williin tlio nioniory t)l' men still living wlio has not 
supped I'ull of the horrors rcsulling iVoni using load 
pipes. If wo aro to boliovo the books, Eve's apple was 
an innoi'ont and harndoss thing compared with a bit of 
load pipo. l>isoaso dwelt in the outer darkness till slio 
was oonduolod into our world through a loatl pipe. 
Science can not build me a cistern, b>it she can poison 
all the pleasure to be derived from it. Long ago wo 
heard and received into devout and believing hearts all 
the scaring stories, and rejoiced in our old-fashioned but 
wooden pump, and ascribed our vigor and health to 
iniro, fresh water, till one day the pump was taken uj) 
to bo mondod, and lo, like Milton's Sin, it was no wood- 
on pump at all, but only soomoil wooden io the lloor 
and fair, but ended foul, in a load pi[>o! 

So tluMi, after ascertaining that in spite o[' years of 
poisoning we still lived, the old punij) was thrown aside 
and a new one bought, with galvanized iron pipe, de- 
vised, coinmonilod, ami roeommonded by wise men of 
the East as safe and salubrious. !No rust could corrode 
it nor poison distill from it, and wc drank that our souls 
might live. Now comes up Science again with a som- 
ersault, as cheery as if she had never missed the mark, 
and warns us if there is any one thing more deleteri- 
ous and deadly than another it is galvanized iron, for 
whereas orilinjuily the poison is an incident to the pipo. 



HCIENCE, rURE AND J'lUCTICAL. 93 

this j)i])C sets to work with double forces to make poi- 
son. Go to. AVo be all tl(;:i(I men. 

"But oh!" mouths Science, with no accession of mod- 
esty, " wc have discovered something altogether won- 
derful. Lead is fiital and galvanized iron deadly, but 
if you will fill lead ])ipes with the warm, concentrated 
solution of sulphide of s(xlium till it forms an insoluble 
sulphide of lead, th(;y will be j)erfectly liarmlcss." 

They will, will they ? l^'or how long? By day after 
to-moi-row you would set us all digging out the insolu- 
ble sulphide of lead as the arch-poisoa of the whole 
solar and human system. Away with your pipes and 
your poisons, and let us go back to the old oaken 
bucket that has no nonsense about it. I suppose one 
can swallow a rope if he likes and nobody hurt. Or 
will you tell us presently that the combination of the 
hempenatc of oakum with the hydrogen of water forms 
a hyper-hcmpehydratc utterly destructive to the cere- 
bral tissues, the cordic ganglia, and the body politic gen- 
erally ? 

AVhcn Science knows her own mind, it will be time 
enough for her to dogmatize about our bodies. Until 
then, we of the Ignorami may as well rest assured that 
men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for 
lead, and cultivate the cheerful spirit of that incredulous 
mother in a certain rural Israel, who, when condoled 
with for a supposed liver complaint, replied heartily, 
" I don't know but my liver and my lights is both gone ; 
but if they be I don't know it !" 



Ill •nYi.'LVM! Mll.KS rUOM A Lh\\HK\. 



VI. 

l.1//7;/(M A' /.VI7'.V7.7().VN. 

'riii'.uiv livos :i man, swoUon wiih spirilual priiK*. wlio 
has (ravrKnl along u\\ watiM'-pipos dcc\^ down into tlio 
vallov o[' lmn\ilialion. l-'rom tho boginniiig ho lookod 
wilh iho oahii, oxasporalui!.;' t^vo of siipiM'oiHous sooni 
uj>ou phvns niul aoooiuphshnuMiis. " Wator-works are 
vanity niul voxation ol' spirit." was tho IuiviKmi o[' his 
song". "A houso wiih nunlorn inipiovrnuMiis is tho 
Taiitahis ot" I'iviH/.atioii. ^'oll bought. :i bivad-knoador 
oi\i'o, auil it took K>n!>or to oK'an iho thing, nrtor vcui 
had usoil It. than it dul to knoail and bakv^ tho bread." 

"No, Hassan, I only KH>kod at it. ami wanted to bny 
it. but dill not, broauso yoii ritbouKHl it .so." 

'' \'oii will liiid that it will I'ost about as niiu'li, lu 
oaro and nioiu^v, to korp your hydraulics going as it. 
will to koo}> a. hor.^o. Thoro will always bo soinotlung 
bursting, or somothing ologgod. or soniotliing running 
OV01-. or somothing giving out. \'ou will lia\o to watch 
it a.«^ olosoly as a two-yoar old baby ; and ymir attompt. 
to lotch wator out o[' that rook into this liotiso will bo 
like running two milos to oatoh a horso to rido ono. I 
am not surprisoil at your dotormination to ruin your- 
soll'. but 1 am surprised that you show no origiu:ility in 
tho movlo. ^'ou ari' simply ruining voursolt, prooisely 
as thousituds havo dono boloio vou.' 



,1 ,1/A7.7' M ,V INVIi:N'n(>NS. 1)5 

"Wli;il. ;i. I.liioii;', of iii;iliy W')|(|;i, my (VicikI I |;i;',;;;iii, 
(liiiiil; Willi Ix'cr, li;i,",l, I, lion (;|i<.I;<'ii|" HiiyH I'cow.mH', in 
IJh! oIiI r';i >;<»ii poem. 

Hill, wIh'Ii IJm; W')|1; w;i:i <l<»iic, wlicii llii:', iiiili,'i|)|iy 
iii.'iii w.'iM hnlilcii l.o iii;iil. liow wi;;i'ly I li;i'l ;'ii;ii(|i'i| 
Jlf^'lillMl, IVohI, jiihI liiiiiiiic, ;i;';iiiiMl, ,",iii |ilii:i ;iiii| (•ImcI.^ 
li(;w wiiiKoiiicly llndiiic, w.'iH l.o l)i; my iiimlth; li;iii(l 
m;i,ii|cii, .'unl liow <li'(Uy liit; ;iiiil w.'drr li;ii| Imcii |ii<-:;;;i( | 
iiilo my Hi'.rvK'.i; oli ! tlicii did not, he, hiin;'; buck ,'iiid 
H(!(!lv to (;Ii;i,ii;';(! IIkj Hiihjcdt,, luid look ityv.v \\\\>, Hlioiildrr 
("or HoiiiclJiiii;'; l.o (;it;i,|.c, u div('rnioii? A m;iii docji no 
liulu to f^ivo ill I And wli<;n Uic kIi.mi)) winl.cr <;!i,ni(i 
ii[)oii iiH lik'(! u Hl.roii;^ iiinn iiinicd, and I ro:!c. in i.lio 
moiiiin;' Id (iiid III! irjcjc, piol.i iidiii;'^ IVom cvry liM.lc 
Hilv(;r I»i|Kr, 1 coiilcMH I had inii-'.j.MViiij-^s inyHcH'; bill, iiH- 
Hidiioiis niiiMlnj';, wilJi llaiin<:lM and liot, wal.c.r, Hooii r(!- 
niovd I, he, diniciill.y, ami <;aic. and ,M;i;s'H;il.y |irrvcnl.c.d 
ilH nKaiircncc. ; and llaKHUii l.lio Turk ii-t ready l.o ^iin,w 
liiH licarL out with niinornc!, b(!(;aiiH(! nothing haH ocvmywA 
to jUHtify his /.doomy (brcbodiiigH, or to rnaku iny HyH- 
t(!iri oC irri^Mition any l.hiiij.'; but, an iiiiiiiitij.';at(!d :iiid, 
aCtf^r tli(! fii'Kt oiil.l;iy, an inc,xp(!nHi V(! lilrHHin,";. hd, no 
body bo df'l.c.ircij I'loni bnnyin;', water into hi.'i hoiiiW) 
by TcaiM of (iiiluK; and pci plcx il y. Von ini;j;lit jiiHt 
UH well. Hto|) tho circnlatKMi ol" blood in tlio body be- 
cause) il is subject to derarig(!iri(!iit, us to refiise, tlii! circu- 
lation of* water in tiio house bcicaiisc inm and l.lirn a \>\\)^^ 
oveifIf)WH, and your fnjscocjs arc ruined, (iood work- 
iiK-n will prevfMit siujh a,ceident; but if they can not, 
{.dv, ii|) yoni- (Vcscoch; do not rove up your lifeblooiJ, 
Wh'ii I ;;i:<! the farm li(;iiHeM, the daiiieM, the l;ite,heiiH, 



96 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

whose only source of supply is the well in the yard or 
the liogshcad at the backdoor, and think how life would 
be lengthened and sweetened if all this heavy, and hard, 
and slow water-bringing could be supplanted by the 
turn of a screw, I wonder that we do not manage 
to introduce it somehow into our marriage contracts. 
What an increase of vital force would ensue; what a 
diminished demand for divoice; what a strengthening 
and upbuilding of the family band, if a girl should 
I'cfusc to marry until there was an inexhaustible sup- 
ply of water, at least in the kitchen. A house without 
water-works ought to be considered as incomplete as a 
house without doors, and as incomplete in the country 
as in the city. 

It is said that women can not invent, even in matters 
that concern themselves. Not only the cotton-gin, but 
the sewing-machine is the device of the masculine brain. 
Man has to plan the very tools with which women does 
her work. Very likely. And after he has planned 
them, he ought to use them. The very fact that a man 
invented the flat-iron is prima facie evidence that he 
ought to do the ironing. " Labor," Mr. Wendell Phillips 
is reported to have said, "is entitled to all it creates;" 
let labor, then, run its own sewing-machines and turn 
its own mangles. Inlluence is greater than invention; 
and in inlluence women arc as strong as men. Thus I 
admire the inventions of men on the ?;// admirari prin- 
ci}>le. It is a good thing for a man to do, but it does 
not bring him up to the level of a woman. Having in- 
vented all, he is but an unprofitable servant, and has 
not done half that which it is his duty to do. Still I 



AMERICAN INVENTIONS. 97 

;irn ^dad he lias done something. And when skill and 
iijgenuity are united willi modesty, they form a com- 
bination, and produce a result which the highest need 
not scorn. 

"I have got something at home I should like to put 
up in your kitchen bcibrc your carpenters are through," 
said my fiiend tiie Churchman. I smiled benignly, not 
having the smallest j)remo'ntion that I was entertaining 
an angel unawares. But it was even so. The "some- 
thing" proved to be an apotheosized clothes-horse, "the 
Dryad," as it has been christened by Hassan the Turk. 
Every one knows the old-time clothes-horse that stood 
by the kitchen stove, cumbrous, and always in the way. 
The Dryad consists of three long poles, an assortment 
of wheels and pulleys, a cord and tassels, a porcelain 
knob, a gold ring, and a bracket or two. The greater 
part of it is at the ceiling. When it is not in use, it is 
all at the ceiling, except the knob, and ring, and cord, 
and tassels, which cheerfully ornament the window. 
When the clothes are ready to be placed upon it, the 
ring is slipped from the knob, and the Dryad glides 
gracefully down within reach. A little pull on the 
cords, and she glides gracefully back to her native 
skies, bearing her snowy blossoms. There they bloom 
on high till they are ready to be plucked for the bu- 
reau drawers, and in the warm air of those upper re- 
gions their dampness is won away or ever you are 
aware, and they can be removed so speedily that tlierc 
is small chance of spot, or stain, or smoke ; nor can the 
frisking kitten, by never so great leaps, pull the clear- 
starched muslins, for playthings, to the flooi'; nor do 

5 



98 twi:lvi; miles fmom a lemon. 

your Turks ever run against them in the dark; and 
moreover, it is always there ready to your band. As 
its value gradually dawned upon me, I wondered I had 
never seen one before, and that all the kitchens of the 
world were not supplied with what no gentleman's 
library should be without. While I was musing, the 
fire burned, and I summoned the Churchman, and ask- 
ed him, 

" Where did you get that Dryad ?" 

Why, it was one he had at home. 

" But where did you get it ? Where did you buy it? 
Who made it ? Where does the sun arise on such an- 
other?" 

Well, the man hesitated, and coughed, and finally 
owned to having invented it himself! 

The trouble with my town is its modesty. We are 
brimful of talent, but we hide it under a bushel. Gov- 
ernors come down here, and by quietly using their eyes, 
learn how to govern. The world has hitherto dragged 
its stones on a drag. We elevate our drag, depending 
it from a pair of old wheels in front, and resting it on 
trucks behind, and save great stores of power; but we 
do not say any thing about it. We simply do it, and 
men who have been parading their scientific mechanics 
all their life look at us and are astonished. When our 
fellow-countrymen entreat us to serve them in public 
offices, we leave our Happy Yalley, take up the cross and 
go, but we do not run around electioneering. When 
a new-comer, unaware of our delicacies and dignities, 
and eager to secure us for the country, and perhaps, 
also, to evince his own zeal and friendliness, once 



AMEBIC AN INVENTIONS. 99 

brought down from the great city its city ways, and 
posted at night, by the moon's pale beams, a score of 
gigantic handbills, and under the rising sun all the 
trees blossomed in frantic adjurations — 

"Vote for Mr. Bbown 

For Secretary of State ; 

YoTE FOR Mr. Jones 

For Secretary of the Treasury," 

the consternation of Messrs. Brown and Jones was ex- 
treme. Ask people to vote for us ! Never ! We will 
be the people's spontaneous choice, or we will not be 
the people's at all ! and down came the offending hand- 
bills from the unconscious trees as swiftlyand as stealth- 
ily as if they had been the proofs of a forgery. We 
thank you for your friendliness, sweet friends, but do 
not compromise our dignity. 

And here comes another genius, cheating the world 
by his miserable modesty. He has devised a machine 
which every one admires, but he has no agent, never 
advertises it, takes no measure whatever to introduce it 
to a waiting world. If I insist upon having one for a 
friend, he thinks there is a man in Boston who had one 
in his shop some years ago, and he may have it on hand 
yet. The man in Boston blithely brings out various 
machines, from a clothe;: -line to a hat -rack, and pro- 
nounces each one, successively, to be the Dryad. He 
does not even remember how the creature looks, but is 
ready to take oath to any thing for the sake of selling 
off his stock. But, happily, I have seen a Dryad, and 
can not be deceived into accepting a dust-brush. The 



100 TW^'iVK .\tnh:s /•/.'(U/ .1 1 iwio.w 

('\\n\\'\\\\v.\u, uiiilvM' slroii!',' piH'ssurr. I'mMllv lliiuks ho 
\\\:\\ \\:\\r .srp;ir;il(> jMCi'rs riioii!',li in his h;ini to oitii- 
.stnu't ;v wholo luaoluno, sv> I siuwotl in oxnortiiig ono ; 
:\iul (ho I'aniilv iwv so pU\MS(Hl with it \\\i\l thi'v nw vwv- 
iiMitly rcportinl to h;m!' tho rat ami kitloi\s on it. whou 
thi'v h;ivi> horn on\ \\\ tlio rain. lUit an onlinary por- 
son, with snrh an invtMitiiMi, wouM niako a lortuno, 
luuKl hons(\s, he clccicd mayor (>t' tho nu-tropoHs, and 
luroiur a c-antlidato [or Stales' Prison in si\ months. 

hi luiiKlitii;" a liouso. in loniulin;'; a luMm\ thoro aro 
two thin!>'s whrroin it is not wcW to (\'onomi/.o — light 
anil hoat. ll is not. how lilllo \o\i c:\\\ Ih> t'omiortahK^ 
with, l>ut. lunv nuu'h \o\\ ran siHMiro. ^'on may ars.!,'UO 
that, you ooonpy luit one ov two roon\s, anil theso nK>no 
nri'il 1)0 lighti'ii. I>nt immoiliatoly yon want a. book, a. 
piotnro, a hit. o\' woik that, is in si>mo dark and distant. 
ap.artn\onl, and tho i^iMiiai I'nnonl of your sou! is iVoi'.oii. 
lie wlio ri^isons is lost. Thoro is no salolN hnt. in hay 
in;!, your wholo houso alight, and ai;low. Tho «>yiMunL!; 
radianoo shall ho as jUM'yadinj^' as tho hroad ami layisli 
snnshino. It has its own eharni. Tntler its nnld and 
inoUow s[)oll you loi'l your.soll'a point. o\' light in a. d;irk 
worKl a tiny, lixod star, soil' luminous and illumina- 
ting. Till* fai'i's on tho wall j',i'ow nioro honign and 
sympathotii'. 'V\\o\ aro no long(>r pioluros, hut. souls, 
jistirwith loyi< and nuMuory. All liuuiliar oolors i^f tho 
(lay hliMid i.\ccp and rioh in tho uiwv li.",hts and shadows. 
Myoii hard iMitlinos sol'ton into graoo. JMiiMuUinoss ho 
oomos inoro suayo and iVoo. 'PhiMV is a hroath of droani- 
land in tho air, and far oiVaml impo.ssihlo things bccoino 
uoar anil roal. Is it oidy gas, aftor all 1' 



AMEICJiJAM ISVICNTIONH. J (U 

liut in Uio country wc have npcrmaccti and kcroKcno 
for all our inHpiration; yet we a«k: not your pif,y, ok 
friend from the city; for while we reeoj/ni/e the oaHO 
and convenience of your gaweouH InventionH, we recog- 
nize alno their (liwad vantages — disadvantage of leaky 
pipes, and noxious Hrnf;llH, and tainted air; of faiiurcH 
and Kudden (JarkncHH, and flare of gaH-jets most trying 
to mortal eycH. We look at the bright and steady 
gleam of our honcKt, if cumbrous lamps, and thank 
J leaven that the lines have fallen to us in pleasant 
places. 

The fame of the German Student Lamp was noised 
abroad through the rural districts till the unsophisti- 
cated mind could but infer that it was, on the whole, 
rather an improvement on the sun, cheaper and more 
congenial to the eye. Whereupon the unsophisticated 
mind arose and went to the city on a t^jur of investiga- 
tion, and discovered that inexhaustible American genius 
had gilded the refined gold and painted the lily Vjy an 
invention of its own, called the American Student Lamp, 
The German was good, but the American was bettfjr. 
It was lacquer- work, and would never tarnish. It was 
various other things that would never become apples 
of Sodom in your grasp, Coiild the unsophisticated 
mind hesitate? Between German and American, can 
the patriot's choice be doubtful ? We are not on IVe- 
mont llow or Dock Square; we are on Winter Street, 
that rendezvous of respectability and reliaVjility, Ca;sar 
is above suspicion, and his wife never appears behind 
the counter. We buy the American lamp; we are fur- 
nished with a pamphlet library of literature bearing on 



102 TWtJl.VK MILES J'HOM A LE-VOX 

its niechaiiistn nnd manipulation. Wo go borne and 
prepare to illuminate. 

We have eome to the eonehision that a complete 
mastery of the Anieriean Student Lamp is equal to a 
four years' course of study at the Institute of Technol- 
ogy. AVe have been diligently investigating it for 
eighteen months, \\-ith short and infrequent vacations, 
and have apparently come no nearer the secret place 
where its soul abideth than we were at the beginning. 
It is spherical trigonometry carried to the highest pow- 
er, and then merged in total depravity. It is n com- 
bination of globes and chimneys and cylinders and 
cork-screws, appalling to the natural man. It is one of 
those things that no fellow can lind out. There is a 
siphon and a tank, and a respirator, and an aqueduct^ 
and a series of tubes nu^tre incomprehensible than the 
wlieel in the middle of a wheel which the }u-ophet saw 
in a vision, and, like that, they turned not when they 
went, and, unlike that, they went not when they turned. 
It is a' a muddle. The only way to tell when the lamp 
is full is to pour till it runs over. The entire Faculty 
of one of our best colleges have been engaged, from 
time to time, in putting in the wick, and the clergy 
have done every thing but pray over it. In vain. AVe 
took the lamp and the funnily, and went to town. The 
lamp was set on the counter, the family stationed around 
it, the proprietor summoned and bidden to '• put that 
wick into that lamp." His knees smote together, but 
he said he would. It was just as easy, he said. Just 
slip the wick on this cylinder and wind a silk thread 
around it, so; and then slip the silk thread and wick 



AMKUIdAN INVI'INTIONS. lO.'i 

and cylinder inU) anoUicr eyiindor, ho; and then; was a 
liook ill this cylinder and a groove in tbat one, ho; and 
the hook would catch, and the [)r()j(!Ction would go into 
the groove, so; and every thing would move H{>irally and 
smoothly, so — only the wick would not go into the cyl- 
inder, and the projection would not go into the groove, 
and the hook would not catch, and things would not 
move at all, and the man's fingers trembled, and he 
wound and unwound, and screwed and unscrewed, and 
Jarnrncid and pulled with nervous haste, while we stood 
ai-ound gazing in grim silence. Nemesis had her turn, 
liy-aiid-by th(j wick nially seemed to go where it be- 
longed. At least it did n(jt go anywhere else, and the 
unhappy man took' out his bandanna and wiped the 
beaded agony from his brow; but not even the tor- 
ture ho had undergone could extort from him the con- 
fession that there was any other or more Hcientific way 
of |)Utting on the wick than the one he had just ex- 
liibited. It was as direct as the Chinese way of roast- 
ing pig by burning the sty ; but we were forced to be 
content, and went home rejoicing that life might be 
pleasant while that wick lasted, which lie said would be 
six weeks or two months. 

It is now eighteen months, and the wick has never 
been changed. There is no reason why it ever should 
be. Who buys the American Student Lamp may be 
sure not to waste his substance in wicks, for there is no 
process known to natural history by which the lamp 
can be made to burn. You might as well have an 
American student in the room for all the light you get. 
AVe called friends and neighbors to rejoice with us in 



104 TWELVE ^fILES FIx'OM A LKMOX. 

this now tlamo, and wliou it ^Yns llnally kindled nyo 
went into the stroot to see the illumination, and the 
lamp was out before ^Ye were. We had meant to grat- 
ify our vanity with the splendor of the speetaele. and it 
was necessary to fetch a candle to Ihul where the spec- 
tacle was. 

••Ami whilo the lamp huUls out to Imni, 
The vilest sinner ninv retuiu," 

gives no hope to us. It is but a delusive way of say- 
ing that he shall never return. Wo appealed to the 
seller. He exchanged it, but change of lamp is not 
change of mind ; and still from those flames no light, 
but rather darkness, visible. Ue protl'ored still further 
exohange ; but whore is the use of a stream of lamps 
going and coming from the shopman's counter to a 
country house like a chain-pump? We appealed to the 
manufacturer, Nvhose name purported to be Carleton. 
But there was no response. I do not believe Mr. Carle- 
ton made it I do not believe there is any ^[r. Carleton. 
The Priuee of Darkness iuvented this lamp of his own 
free-will, to entangle the souls of men, and a respecta- 
ble T^ew England linn is ready to abet him. 

Then the lamp began to leak, and the library table 
was ruined. I'hen we found it was not a fatuitous, but 
a fore-ordained leak. An aqueduct is diabolically con- 
trived to lead the oil from the globe where it is sup- 
posed to burn, but will not, into a tank beneath, where 
it can not do any thing but drip upon the table. If 
time be taken by the forelock, this submarine tank can 
be unscrewed and emptied; but as contemporary history 
had failed to make mention of this feature of the ma- 



AMERICAN INVENTIONS. 105 

chine, the tank had overflowed, and scattered evil odors, 
discoloration, and ruin. As, however, even if the lamp 
does not burn, all the oil will, after a while, leak out, 
this little peculiarity presently ceases to be trouble- 
some. 

We love the American Student Lamp. If any per- 
son is fired with a desire to let his light shine in adversi- 
ty, we have an adversity ready to his hand. Whoever 
wants a lamp of excellent manufacture of the highest 
price, bright and burnished, and warranted not to burn, 
may be safely recommended to the American Student 
Lamp. As a safety-lamp it is unparalleled. Nothing 
short of nitro-glycerine could make it explode. As a 
testimonial of affection, it is more economical than the 
Ball and Black cases which inclose dollar jewelry for 
wedding presents. At awary Christmas and birthday 
festival we make somebody a present of that lamp. It 
has been carried to donation-parties. It has figured at 
Calico Balls. It has been sent to the Chicago sufferers. 
It has just not been dropped into the contribution-box. 
And still, 

" In that house of miseiy, 
A Lady with a Lamp I see 
Pass tlirough the glimmering gloom, 
And (lit from room to room." 

Finally, we sent it back to the seller. He notified us 
that it stood on his counter burning all day. We never 
tried it in the day-time. As a general thing, the rural 
districts want lamps that burn at night. For the day 
and the counter, doubtless the American Student Lamp 
is invaluable; but for the eveninpr and the home, we 



KX; T\yi:i.y/u' mill's /■•/,•(>.]/ a i./jmox. 

liiivc {!;oiu> back lo camllcH and llio jincit'iil, lamp, and 
llu- broad, bciiij^iiaiit, moon, as 

"Full slii^ I1mi('(I il, l;iin]iiiijj; Sniiiiiiiilii." 

Sittinjj; in tJio t.\vili_s!,lit-, wo muse over ihc. sliorU'-om- 
ings ol' t)iir counliy, and lamont the liurry, the siipcr- 
iii'ialil.v, tlic lack ol' tlioron,<;linosH, tlio liit^ii-soundiiiii; 
])rot.rnsions, lln', .small and mean achii'vcnuMils wliirli 
disli^iiro our lifo. 

" Wo pridi^ oiii'solvos upon oui- iuL-H'uuil y," says on(>, 
''autl wo tU'viso many things. l>ut, you can d<MHmd 
ii))on nolJiiuii;. Sliopd'CiH'pci's mock at women lor pr(>- 
fcnint'^ Mn^lisli ami l*'i'cncli jiiooils to those of Ameri- 
can manulacluri*, and call it fashion and snobbery, and 
tell talcs of foreign labels on American goods, and 
American womiMi saiislied in ct)nse(]uiMicc. I>nt the 
truth is, the foi-cigu fabrics arc of better (pialily than 
our homo }>roducts. I'atiiotic j)coplc will oven pay a 
higher i>rico for an AmtMican lam}) than a(ilerman lamp, 
but j)atriotism ilself would not be willing to spend the 
remainder of its natural life in darkness lbi- ihc sak(> oi' 
encouraging hoim^ manufacture. The (ii'rmans arc a 
slow, heavy, ])U)dding race, and pcrhM}>s do not turn out 
so many lamps a tlay as we. r>ut when tlu'ir lamj)s are 
turned out, tlu>y buiii.'' 

"Hut it so hap])ens," says Hassan tlu> Turk, "that 
many olthc so-called (uM'iuan lamps ;\\v made in Amci-- 
ica. What then?" 

" Probably tJiey are tlu> (uM'man lam]is that catch 
live, and ai'c thrown into tlu> strei>l. 1 \\:i\v known of 
such. Probably they arc the lamps that explode and 
kill their owners. I have reail (W such." 



.1 MKIilCAN IN V/'J.VT/ONS. 1 ( )7 

"I'.iii wIi:iL liiivc- you l.o olVcr in ])r()()l" l,li;il, exploding 
lumps iivi) ol' Aiiuiricuii iiiunnriicUirc, ;i,ml iJn; ii()ii-(!x- 
jilodiii;^ of Ibrcigii?" 

" NoUiing cxc(;j)L our AiiMtricjiii sillvs, wlii(;li look ko 
Htoiiliuid wciir HO Kliubby, uiul spot with wuLt-r." 

" Hut. wli(!i) you l)uy ;i Ibrcijni silk you luko your lill; 
in your liamls. Il, iiuiy bo rep ami hjHtroUH uiid stocky, 
yet bi'cuk and bo nearly AA^orthloHH. It is oidy ol' froo 
gruco that you got cvuti a goo(i Honnot silk." 

"And the Chicago l)ig" I bcthiidc tnc; witii ap|)ai<!nt 
incon.sc(jucnc(! l)ut r<'al lo^doal connection. (!liicago 
having burned up tlu! greater part (if her conlidcMit 
boasting, liad nothing to show the (irand l)ukc but Iku- 
way ol" killing pi^',s. Alexis watched the process, so 
they say, with the inij)eitui'bability which doth lu^dgo 
a king. At its conclusion, instead ol' going into rap- 
tures ove.r the growth of (Chicago and the /Meat Amer- 
ican I{(!puljlic, he ((uietly asked, "(Jan you tak(! a livrs 
liog and turn him into sausage in ten niinut(!s'/" 

" No, we don't think w(! can do that," said smilinLr 
(Chicago, falling blandly into tin; royal tra)). 

"Tluiy do in (yopetdiagen,"said his imperial High- 
ness, tlio (J land l)uke Alexis. 

]'oor Chicago! 'I'o bo burned by fin; and snubbed 
l)y ))rinccs! She has six thousand new, (irst-class Ikjuhch, 
four thousand begun, and two thousa,nd under contract; 
but what (l(jth it avail h(;r so long as this Monhicai sit- 
teth at the king's gate making Kausagcs faster than sIk;? 
i'oor f)ig-packing Chicago, to liavo even luir crown of 
])ork plucked I'lorn licr Kcorclied young brow I No 
doubt, as she thiidvB of the stalwart duke, she swears 



1(KS rWh'Llh' MI/J'.'S Fh'OM A LEMON. 

cUm'ikiI IkiUi to inonarchiciil iiistilulions, and wishes that 
many more niii;lil 

"SIcop 
l''(ill iiinnv 11 lallioni <1('('|), 
IJy tliy wild and slonuy stoop, 
Klsinoro!" 

With llio niorniiiti; li<j;hL caiuo once a dn^adful ivvcla- 
\\o\\. 'V\\c (lininL!;-ro(>ni carpet, the new Brnssels car- 
})eL t.lial. had iiad but two days' wt'ar and one {gentle 
Hwoc{)ing, was (U'vclopinj;' httle groujts oC scars, lilile 
tufts of wool, little outbursts of rags, as if some one had 
taken a pair of scissors and pulled uj) the threads, or as 
if rough hob-nailed boots had trodden and torn it. AVo 
watched and waitctl in consternation two days, and the 
little constellation thickened, till tlic lirmament of our 
floor was studdeil with these baleful stars. 

" Moths 1" said tlie white lips of disma>^, and we wrote 
at once to the sellers. 

'IMiose car[>etd<nights made answer that it could not 
bo moths, and must be hob-nailed boots, or the ]>layful 
gambols of lap-dt\i;s or shai'p-clawed kittens. \'ain 
conjet'turc, when there were neither dogs, eats, nor hob- 
nailed men about the house. We summoned workmen 
cunning in carpets. Tlu'y said the little rulHiHl rags and 
ravekHl yarn-ends were owing to a defect in the man- 
ufacture; that it was called "sprouting;" that carpets 
wtM'c sium'tinics thus defective, but that, no manufac- 
turer o[' repute would ever let such carpets go into the 
market. 

"You may depend upon it,'' said a loving but mis- 
trustful patriot, "that carpet. nc^viM- saw an Tliiglisli 



AMNHIVAN INVKNTWMS. \{]\) 

loom. Il, is tli(>. woik ol" sonic shoddy AuKU'iciiii niaiiii- 
ihclurcr, palmed oil' upon us for l<]ii<fli.sli. Jlc slinll he, 
Lrouglit to j^i'iof. I will in((uir(; of the Hclhins tlu; numo 
of tlu; l<]n[i,lisli m:mu(;i(',(,un'is. You will H(M! that ihcj 
will evade, and will noL f^ive il." 

I'l'ompl, as tlio morninjj;' r.'AUw. iJie a,nsw(U', "lliim- 
})lireys, Kidd(M'minsl(!r, hhi^dand !" 

"Tlia,!, looks like l)usiness," said Hassan \\\r. 'i'liik. 

But we dc!lenuiu(ul to f^o to the root of tlu; maticr. 
A j)rotoeol was imuKxliutidy prepaixul for tlicH(5 dishon- 
ored 8ul)J(.'etH of h(;r nuijcsty. 

" Wc re;j;r(!t to be ohli^^'ed t(; sa,y," was tlui lau^ungo 
of the joint Ili^h Oc^nunissionei's, "that, mueli as wo 
love; our country, we are not surprise*! at any impcr- 
i'ectiou in iier manuliietures, but we did thiidc that /'>'//- 
ijlish. was ;i syiu)uym Ibr //loroiif/Ii. In our eirelc, when 
we hav(; proe-ui'cd i*jn<^Iisli floods, we account ourselves 
to liave aecpiired the best of its kind. |{ut if Mn^^dand 
p;ives out, wlier(! shall patience loolc (bi- perrect work? 
What is the <];o()d of your not li;^litin;_'; I'russiu if you 
arc f^oing to send shabby, siioddy cai'j>ets into the lit- 
tle rural dining- rooms of America? What is the us(; 
of (-arls and loids sailing nround the world to s(!ttle 
Alabama eluims, if the great manuraeturers [)ersist in 
sowing the K(!cds of discord under our feet? Messrs. 
Merchants offer to exchange our carpet, but how shall 
wo know that anotluu- carjiet will not also develop 
vegetarian teiulencies? And what shall eompensat(5 
us for the trouble, perplexity, and general disturbance 
of our household gods, to say nothing of our broken 
faith in I^lnglish fabric? J^c sure your Sfirouting cai'- 



1 1 TWKL rs MILKS FROM A LSMOX 

pols will grow a nunv taial harvost than tlio Uragon's 
teeth !" 

The most easual reader will see that theiv is a high 
moral tone abont this appeal oaleulateil to strike the 
woolen mijul with awe. llumphrevs, Kidderminster, 
wero evidently impres^sed. Tliev replied that they 
would eon\e over in November and hvk into it. In 
November they ivported themselves in Boston. Did 
they expect a five Ameriean eitiz.en to put his carpet 
in his pocket and go to Boston? Because he did not, 
they slipped back to Kidderminster. Justice was uv^t 
to be thus batUed, and again stretched her hand across 
the briny ileep, eollaivd Humphreys, Kidderminster, 
and bade them rise and explain! They nuide some 
lame excuse, and said they would come again in .luly 
and thoroughh' investigate. Perhaps they will; but 
meanwhile it ivmains that an old English house ot" es- 
tablished ivputation sends into the market, and is not 
caiviul to ivclaim, gv>ods that would do diseivdit to the 
" smartest " and swil'test and shoddiest firm in Ameriejv 
Why, then, should we monopolize a reputation tor un- 
substantial fabrics? We are a country of magnitleent 
distances, and comparatively small and spai^so popula- 
tion. Our haste and superlieiality aiv born not of our 
character, but of our necessities. True, that way danger 
lies, but the encouraging symptom is that we bear our 
standaixi high. AVe are gradually learning to do well 
what at first we felt compelled to do quickly. The 
Cheneys are never content with a piece of silk, but are 
ever meditating on the next, and give the mulberry- 
worm no rest. Poubtlcss, the whole pork-compelling 



AMERICAN JNVENTIONH. 1 1 1 

mirjd of Chicago, since tlie vinit of his Imperial High- 
ness, lias been directed to facilitating, by a few mo- 
ments, the transmigrations of the hog. We drive along 
the white, hard roads between the hedge-rows of En- 
gland, and think of the rough and rugged cart-tracks, 
8limy, muddy, dusty, and dented with treacherous pits, 
that are sometimes a bond and sometimes a barrier be- 
tween our own towns ; but our roads are already abreast 
with our other victories. It is no small thing to estab- 
lish even an imperfect connection between the shores 
of a continent. It would be Quixotic and extravagant, 
it would be frivolous and pottering, to attempt to unite 
our remote cities, our straggling villages, hy such high- 
ways as England can not afford to miss. When wealth 
and leisure and social life have reached a certain point, 
they overflow in Central Park drives and suburban 
Boston roads that match the finish of merrie England. 
But England herself would be but a Central Park set 
down in the midst of our vast American territory. 

In small things and great, the same good word can 
be spoken. The gay-flowering cretonnes which adorn 
our rooms and disfigure their occupants have an hon- 
orable tale to tell of American ambition. Some native 
genius, we were told, was experimenting, but refused to 
put any goods upon the market until he had wrested 
the secret of skill, and satisfied himself of their excel- 
lence. Suddenly cretonnes which had been procurable 
only at a dollar and twenty-five cents were abundant in 
graceful figures and soft, agreeable colors for seventy- 
five and eighty-.seven cents, and we knew our Ameri- 
can genius had succeeded. Look at California blank- 



112 TWin.vh' .i///./;n ruoM a /.i:M()X. 

cis, heavy yet lii^lu, wm-tli alinost, llu-ir woigliL in gokl, 
white and ihic niul ilcccy like the elouds, puro ns tho 
driven snow, ami imprisoning the very sonl of warmth, 
and know that, though Ameriea has yet much to learn, 
and though the noble mind counts nothing done while 
any thing remains undone, still we have a country 
which, even in its manufactures, needeth not to l)e 
ashamed. 



THE FLEAHUliEH OF IWEItTY. 113 



VII. 

THE PLEA 8 UBES OF PO VER TY. 

One of the most gratifying developments of modern 
science is the possibilities of poverty. Mind, I say the 
possibilities, not the possibility of poverty. The world 
has always known that it might be poor, but it was re- 
served for our own day to learn how much it could be 
and do and enjoy in poverty. Science has investigated 
so loyally, art has showed itself so democratic, that it 
really seems to make little difference nowadays wheth- 
er you are rich or poor. It is only a choice of effects 
where all effects are pleasing. If you arc rich, you fin- 
ish your room with polished woods, much inlaid work, 
frescoing, and gilding. You pile heavy carpets on your 
floors, hang heavy curtains at your windows, lead in the 
sunshine through wondrous films of gossamer, forget 
your walls in the pictured pride and beauty and brav- 
ery of the Old World, and fill your rooms with mem- 
ories of palaces, with devices of genius, with the luxu- 
ries of all lands. The efieet is soothing, sensuous, de- 
lightful. The confusion and clamor of our manifold ac- 
tivities are hushed into a harmonious lullaby. Life is 
a dream, a reminiscence, a prophecy, an ecstasy. 

But you are poor. Yes, and sarcenet and muslin 
and straw matting have their victories no less renown- 
ed than plush. Heaviness, solidity, majesty come with 



114 T]y£LVE MILES FJWM A LEMOX. 

money, but lightness, airiness, grace come without it. 
Sunshine itself will almost furnish a house, and there is 
a mental exhilaration in the conversion of an old mus- 
lin gown into a new toilet-table which hired upholstery 
can never confer. This domestic transmigration of 
souls gives a sort of creative consciousness which is 
akin — though perhaps remotely — to the artistic sense. 
You will never make a picture, but out of four walls 
and a few rags, boards, and pennies, you have made a 
home light, cheerful, gay. It does not lure you to re- 
pose—no; but it tones you to action. It wiles you into 
no dream of past grandeur, but it rouses ^-ou to per- 
formance and achievement. It thrills you with the ea- 
gerness of spring-time and the promise of summer. 

Nor is poverty hopeless even of pictures. " The first 
thing to do,'' says my art-critic, "if 3'ou would cultivate 
a love of true art, is to throw 3"0ur chromos out of the 
window\" Throw your own chromos out if you like,' 
but lay a finger on mine at your peril ! The art-critic 
is a useful and superior person. Let us not despise him 
from the heights of our ignorance and self-satisfaction. 
"We will study art assiduously ; and when we have be- 
come so fine and discriminating that our chromos give 
us no pleasure, w^e will dispense with them, but we will 
not do so at any men's dictum, since how can we learn 
art by staring at a blank wall ? 

In the city, neighbor to right of me who struck oil, 
neighbor to left of me wdio had an army contract, neigh- 
bor in front of me who plumbed the new court-house, 
have 

'' Kitclien. pavlor, lUning-rooni, 
And chamber all complete" 



THE PLEASURES OF POVEETY. 115 

in butternut and oak and satin-wood and walnut, black, 
French, and American, polished, varied, and admirable, 
while I have only feathered my country nest with white 
pine. It is a cheap and common substance, says Midas, 
who uprooted all his ancestral pines for these richer 
and costlier woods, and bids me do the same. Never ! 
What was good enough for my fathers is good enough 
for me. I will not destroy the moldings and the wain- 
scots and the cornices which they set with painstaking 
and fidelity. The same walls shall echo back my voice 
that echoed theirs. But here comes the painter to the 
rescue, with his art that is only not high art, and, instead 
of the cold and somewhat monotonous whiteness, fills 
my atmosphere with his lovely tints and shades. The 
soft brown and gold, and the shimmering haze of Octo- 
ber, make a perpetual Indian summer in my autumn 
room. I do not wish to say any thing derogatory to 
nature, but it certainly seems to me that the black wal- 
nut of man's device is prettier than nature's own handi- 
work. I look at the two side by side, and my paint- 
er's is surely finer, deeper, more wavy and graceful. 
"Graining!" exclaims my neighbor the plumber, and 
his master the artist, and all is over with me. Grain- 
ing is to them an abomiiiation, an imitation, a cheat. 
It is trying to palm off painted pine for a costlier wood. 
It is nothing of the sort. It is loving nature so truly 
that you seek to reproduce her traits where you are 
forbidden to introduce herself. I can not comnjand the 
fabric of oak, but I so love the stately tree that I will 
copy as well as I can in pine his exquisite soft tints and 
clouded shells and billowy lines. What saith the Scrip- 



116 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

tures ? "And the Lord said unto Moses, they shall make 
an ark of shittim-wood, and thou shalt overlay it with 
pure gold, within and without shalt thou overlay it, and 
thou shalt make staves of shittim-wood, and overlay 
them with gold. Thou shalt also make a table of shit- 
tim-wood, and thou shalt overlay it with pure gold." 
Graining is only this, and nothing more. Why must 
we be wise above what is written? When I look at 
my painters, when I see how skillfully they have de- 
vised instruments wherewithal to imitate the results, 
while absolutely shut off from the processes of nature, 
I think them, indeed, but little lower than the angels. 
Looking at man with all his limitations, it seems more 
wonderful that he should imitate black walnut so suc- 
cessfully, than that his Creator should be able to make 
it in the first place. That is, it appears to require less 
creative ingenuity to make fine wood at first-hand than 
to make a man capable of making something that looks 
so much like it. Sham indeed ! The whole question 
of Divine Sovereignty and ]\[an's Free Agency rises 
before me when I look at my grained and glorified 
doors. 

Sham and cant are hard words, and mean hard things ; 
but there is sometimes as much cant in the denuncia- 
tion of cant, and as much sham in the avoidance of 
sham, as in the cultivation of both. My plumber's 
wainscots are real walnut, and mine are simulated ; but 
my delight in my shams is more real than his in his 
truths. I love their beauty, their flowing lines, their 
soft graduations of color. He loves them for their cost- 
liness, for the tribute they pay his pride. How do I 



THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. HJ 

know ? A little, because he did not select with his own 
eye, but gave orders for the handsomest and highest — 
which is not love's way ; a good deal, also, because he 
walks through his beautiful rooms, not admiring, not 
kindly and mellow and hospitable, but arrogant and os- 
tentatious, rude to wife, cold to children, tyrannical to 
dependents, unjust to tradesmen. His carved mantel 
is real, but his cheap pine soul is not even grained. 

My lovely neighbor over the way will hang no pic- 
ture on her walls because she can not yet afford oil- 
paintings, and she calls that being thorough-bred. She 
looks at her rich carpets, her cumbrous chairs, her 
smooth, bare walls finished to the last degree of art, 
and joyfully reflects that no engraving, no chromo, no 
cheap adornment of any kind disfigures her splendid 
drawing-room. She is quite frank in avowing her lim- 
itations. So far as it goes, every thing is what it pre- 
tends to be. 

But, dear madam, the greatest pretense of all sits at 
this moment presiding over this room. The pretense 
is in a pair of eyes dark under their drooping lids, in 
the broad high forehead and shining hair, and sensitive 
mouth and gracious smile, and languid, reposeful atti- 
tude. All sensibility and susceptibility are there, ro- 
mance and passion, delight in beautiful forms and sweet 
sounds, if those features speak the truth. But I am 
chagrined to find that a flaming circus "poster" on the 
polished walls would be no more incongruous than the 
sharpness with which those liquid eyes look after the 
main chance, and the decided twang with which those 
curved and gracious lips utter their dreary common- 



118 TWELVE MILES FJiOM A LEMON. 

place. Things here are what they seem, but tlie woman 
is a fine Florentine frame holding a coarse and com- 
mon wood-cut, out of which no soul speaks, from which 
no inspiration springs. 

All in the soft spring morning I stand in my new 
kitchen, empty, swept, and garnished, and survey the 
wonders which the hand of man hath wrought. The 
old kitchen was admirable in its day — equally an ad- 
vance on its predecessors — but the new embraces all 
improvements, and I may say inventions, up to date. 
And how pleasant it is, and how convenient! The 
wainscots, the soft, gray ceilings, are warm and bright 
with the morning sun, yet the buff window-shades would 
make a sunshine in a shady place. The ancestral stove 
has gone down into Plutonic regions to do extraordi- 
nary service in emergencies, and a new stove, bright 
and black, interlaced with water-pipes, and honey- 
combed with dampers and registers and ash-holes and 
air-chambers, reigns in its stead. A copper boiler, tall, 
round, and red, rises in its appropriate niche, stately as 
a Greek column, and fraught with warmth and comfort 
and cheer that Grecian column never knew, because its 
inmost heart was only the cold, dead marble, while my 
ruddy pillar throbs with the very pulse of the machine. 
Brazen fiiuccts gleam on its curved surface, and water- 
pipes branch out from it in all directions. Yonder 
stands the force-pump, brave with polished brass and 
shining steel. The closets are broad and ample, with 
drawers and shelves and nooks and hooks for every 
device of man's fertile brain. Through the eastern 
window comes the first dawn, and through the west the 



THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 119 

last fading of the sun. I open a door on the north, and 
up and down to my very feet slope the gentle hills ; and 
all above and around are the blue sky and the arch- 
ing elms, and the wide expanse of the lovely world. 
What a wonderful thing it is to be born into the sun- 
shine and the summer ! One little box of a house niched 
somehow into the illimitable universe ! Into it we come 
from the unknown; out of it we go into the unknown. 
Between, a few heart-beats, a haste, a heat, a passion, a 
purpose, and then the eternal peace. Shuts down again 
around us the mystery of the shall Z^e, just as impenetra- 
ble as that of the has been, and neither greater than that 
of the actual is. The yesterday -world did not know 
me, and the to-morrow world will not know me, and 
myself I know not to-day. The clock strikes — the old 
clock that has been striking for generations — and its 
voice rings as brisk and clear and cheery as when it 
struck its jfirst note. Its hands mark the unerring hours 
but for them whose hand set all its life astir, and them 
that looked and listened ; 

" Tlieir bones are dust, 
And their good swoi'ds rust ; 
Their souls are with the saints, I trust." 

The clock ticks away untiringly, the moats float out 
their everlasting leisure in the slant sunshine, and I 
think of one who 

" Swept a floor as to God's law, 

And made that and the action fine;" 

whose kitchen was no mere work-room, desecrated to 
toil, and to be deserted at the first opportunity, but a 
centre of household activities, a focus of home life. In 



120 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

that room reigned order and system and spotless puri- 
ty — the very principles that hold the worlds in hand. 
Here economy was practiced, not as a stern, enforced 
duty, but from a subtle sense of harmony — the outward 
and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. 
Waste was abhorred, not so much because it was cost- 
ly as because it was wrong. Forethought gave worth 
to industry, and intelligence lifted homely household 
work up from the level of labor into the dignity of ad- 
ministration. Such service was like the service of na- 
ture, whose forces achieve noiselessly for the most part, 
but always achieve. 

And shall ignorance and untidiness and clumsy reck- 
lessness lord it over this peaceful domain ? Must rude 
hands mar this comely arra}^, dim the lustre, and tarnish 
the purity, and leave the trail of the serpent over it all ? 
I suppose eternal vigilance is the price of culinary per- 
fection, and it is too great a price to pay. So my brass 
will become dimmed, and my fine copper changed. I 
shall look after matters somewhat ; but because the rul- 
ing principle comes from without, and not from with- 
in, there will always be lapses from kitchen propriety. 
Coffee will be left standing in the coffee-pot; kettles 
will be put away not thoroughly cleaned and dried, to 
gather foulness and rust ; the broom will be left to stand 
on the broom-end, and spoil for lack of thrift to put on 
a fresh loop when the old one is worn out; the dish- 
towels will drop into the wood-box, and be lost both to* 
sight and memory; the ironing-cloth will be rumpled 
and jammed into the drawer instead of being nicely 
folded and laid away ; the window-glass will gather 



THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 121 

specks, and the clock's mirror-face will become clouded, 
and the ceiling will be festooned here and there with 
^dainty cobwebs, and I mentally shake my fist at the, 
as yet, purely mental intruder whose far-off coming al- 
ready makes 

' ' Discord on the music fall, 
And darkness on the glory !'' 

Oh ! why, when every prospect pleases, should only 
man be vile, especially woman? For, unquestionably 
vile as man is, he has not shown his vileness here. In- 
deed he has shown quite the opposite — skill, ingenuity, 
not to say benevolence. Every thing here which ex- 
cites my admiration is the work of man. I wonder if 
women could not have done it just as well. This fine 
finger-work of painting and graining and polishing 
might certainly be wrought even by lady-fingers. A 
great deal of the work of a carpenter requires skill 
rather than strength — no more strength, certainly, than 
many a woman commands. The lifting of heavy beams, 
the painting of sky-roofs, might be beyond her power, 
and in that fact I suppose lies her real disability. The 
master-workman may not call upon his reserved strength 
by the week together, but he can not carry on his busi- 
ness unless it is there, to be called on in an emergency. 
The householder pays his man-servant higher wages for 
the same work than his maid-servant ; but if he wishes 
an errand dispatched at midnight, or in the midst of a 
driving snow-storm, he sends his man-servant at once, 
where his maid^servant he would not dream of send- 
ing. In paying- the extra price, in choosing the boy for 
an apprentice and refusing the girl, these facts no doubt 

6 



122 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

have their weight. Yet carpenters might teach their 
wives and daughters and sisters how to handle the 
plane and chisel and saw, to immense advantage. Some 
women have a natural turn for mechanics, and a little 
instruction would give them power to help themselves 
over many a hard place. If they could not earn their 
living by mechanical skill, they could often minister 
greatly to their own ease, comfort, and economy. They 
could greatly improve the living that is earned for 
them, and they could greatly serve those whose lines 
have fallen in less pleasant places. 

This at least is certain : if girls can not be carpenters, 
they can marry carpenters. Of course, love, as the prov- 
erb says, goes where it is sent ; and you can not fall in 
love with a man because he is handy, but, my blessed 
damosels, you can at least maintain toward the guild 
that appreciative attitude which wins from a man his 
best all unwittingly. You can sufficiently possess your- 
selves of the principles of architecture and mechanics, 
to know that he who has mastered them has made 
no mean acquisition, and can proffer you at least that 
solid ground whereon love must alight to rest his 
weary wings. To be a good carpenter, a man must 
have perception and acuteness, powers of comparison 
and judgment, steadfastness and a sense of proportion; 
strength of arm and skill of hand and grip of mind — 
qualities which no woman dislikes, and which, in con- 
nection with other traits, make a character thoroughly 
admirable. 

The world's type of goodness in greatness was a car- 
penter's son, Not to a family of the rich and ennobled. 



THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 123 

fed by hereditary grace, or endowed with exceptional 
genius, not to the abodes of the thriftless, abject, and 
hopeless poor came He, but to the home of skill and 
intelligence, of self-respect, and selfsupport, to confer 
upon these homely and honorable virtues the dignity 
of Heaven. 



12-i TWL'LVi: MILKS FROM A LEMON. 



VIH. 
TO TVDIZ /.')' UMLROAl). 

Doubtless the coin])lotioii of the racilic iv;uli-o;ul 
was an event of national interest and continental im- 
portance ; and donbtloss, second only to his honorable 
record in the great rebellion, General Dodge congratu- 
lates hinisell', not unworthil}'-, npon having enrolled his 
name among those who have won for their country the 
victories of peace, no less renowned tlian war's. Ami 
what with the driving of golden S}>ikes midway be- 
tween Iwo oceans, and the baptizing of babies with the 
mingled waters of the Atlantic and Pacific seas, our 
enthusiastic and mercurial countrymen seemed deter- 
mined that no element o{ the laneiful sliould be want- 
ing to make the work impressive, it was moi'c like 
a fairy story than like the actual achievements o{ hard 
heads and horny hands in this piaetieal nineteenlli cen- 
tury. 

Yet for all your golden wedges and baptismal waters, 
the whole Pacific llailroad docs not touch one so nearly 
as riding up to Tudiz on a railroad. Geogra}>hieally 
considered, Tudiz is to most scholars an unexplored re- 
gion. I might explain its locality by saying that it is 
})artially bounded by, involved in, and a constituent 
part of, Pine Swamp ; but even then 

"It woiilil lio a secret still, 
'I'lioush nil look on it at \\\\\\ 



TO TIJDIZ BY RAlLltOAl). 125 

Vu\- 1lj(; (•}■(! sliiill r«!!i(l ill Viiiri 
VVliiil the lieiiil, ciiii not explain." 

Etymological ly, Tudiz is full of interest No word 
analyzed and historized by iJean Trench is more lumi- 
nous than this, illustrating as it does the loyalty to law, 
the humor, and the intelligence of our ancestors. Years 
and years ago, before any person now on the earth had 
been born, a question came up in " town meeting" con- 
cerning a large tract of lane] lying on the outskirts of 
the township. The owner thereof, or some person con- 
cerned in the transfer, arose before the assembled sov- 
ereigns, and declared, or meant to declare, that there 
was some error in the transaction, which he wished to 
have rectified. Unhappily, the poor fellow was not 
skilled in words, or was confused by the unwonted 
prominence of his position ; and, instead of saying " rec- 
tified," he put it "rectitude." But these grim old Puri- 
tan Solons had no mercy. Nemesis pounced upon him, 
and fastened to him the name of "Tudy" for the re- 
mainder of his natural life, and even handed his shame 
and its scorn down to a local immortality, since the 
land he owned and the region round about is called 
Tudy's to this very da3^ 

But we can not always go into explanation ; where- 
fore, when wo wish to be romantic and mellifluous, 
rather than philological, we spell it Tudiz^ to match the 
dark-eyed girl of Cadiz! 

A railroad to Tudiz! '^^I'lic imagination refuses to 
comprehend it. With the institution in general we are 
not unfamiliar. The engine's shrill shriek has deafened 
us so long, that the memory of man scarcely runneth 



lL>(i TWKLVE JIILES FJiOM A LEMOX. 

to the contrnrv; but tliat a train of cars shovild delib- 
cratoly leave the boaton track of trade and travel, and 
roll oil' toward Tudiz and Tine Swamp, seems to us 
yet an almost incredible thing. I can more easily be- 
lieve in tlio sealing of the Sierra Nevada, or in pene- 
trating the Yosemite, than in modernizing Tudiz. The 
"West was made to be modernized. Telegraphs and 
steam-carriages wove invented to this very end ; but 
Tndiz is sacred to the past. 

If the Spirit of Conservatism could anywhere say to 
the Spirit of Progress, ''Thus tar shall thou go. and no 
farther.'' it would certainly be at the old stone -wall 
which fences olV Tudiz and the river meadows. But 
that wall of division is broken down, and all our secret 
haunts are laid open to the march of in\provement. 

As you stand on the platform o[^ the staggering car, 
the wild rushing wind blowing your hat one way, and 
your hair all ways, you see not the railroad crowd, but 
the dead generations. You are cutting through the 
corn-tields, the woodlands, the cranberry-meadows, the 
blueberry -swamps, that have descended from father to 
son for ages, unvexed by greed, unassailed by ambition. 
"What does Master Stephen think of you, seven devils 
that you are. snorting, screaming, plunging past his 
backdoor without so much as saying ''by your leave?'' 
^faster Stephen, the stately gentleman who dwelt so 
grandly on his ancestral acres, and, with pardonable ex- 
cess of pride, wanted no son of his to go out into the 
coai'se scramble oi^ trade, but thought the best way for 
a young man to acquire property was to wait and in- 
herit it! In the caii'erness and mad haste of this dav. 



TO TUhlZ II Y liMLIi()AI). 127 

I love to remember that llierc M'as one man who never 
gave in to it — who set himself deliberately and hon- 
orably against it. Teaching the "district school" was 
not only not derogatory to his dignity, but rather added 
to it, so great was our reverence for learning in those 
old times: and truly Master Stephen honored himself, 
and honored his calling; for he taught with love for 
teaching, magnifying his oflice, and rejoicing with pater- 
nal joy in the after-prowess of his pupils. Now, when 
wc want a teacher, we take young men from the col- 
leges, who yearn for a hundred dollars to eke out the 
expenses of sophomore or senior year ; young men with- 
out experience and without responsibility, who may be 
mature and trustworthy, but arc quite as likely to be 
chiefly intent on getting through the three months and 
receiving their wage. This done, they flit ; and whether 
they have wrought good or evil, matters little to them. 
Not so in the brave days of old. Master Steve dwelt 
among his own people. In the summer he tilled his 
well-loved farm. Jn the winter he taught the well- 
loved farmers' children, and faced the fruits of his do- 
ings all the year round, and called no man master. 
Proud he was of his abilities and accomplishments; 
but with a transparent, child-like pride, that gave amuse- 
ment and won sympathy, but never caused offense. The 
offices to which his townsmen elected him were to him 
a solemn trust; and the well-kept pages of many a 
year's record show how faithfully he held it. All the 
duties of life bore him honor; and never king went to 
his coronation with form more erect, with tread more 
majestic, or dignity more unalloyed, than he to his he- 



12S 



T\yi:i.y/:' .i///./;x //.'o.i/ .1 i.i:mo.\. 



rcililarv ]h'\v in llu> vill:i;'>' cluirrli. r>r;iV(' ami Mainc- 
loss giMilKMiiaii ! W'l' \\:i\c I'alUMi on ulliri- davs ami 
otluM" \vavs, and tlic world \v(\ii's lUiU'o looscU' liitiii!;- 
gurniiMils than \Yas ils wont ; luit. I (lurslion il" wi' liavo 
not lost, as well as "'ainrd, sonunvlial l>v llu> olian^m'. 

Shriek on, you fuM-v-brcatlu'd dragon; what. (\o you 
ciivo lor Iho Markborrv-|>att'h('s whcrt^ wo slainrd our 
lin;';iM's and torr v)ur I'jollu-s a hundri'd vi-ars ayu'/ Tro- 
I'aiio llu> silonoos ol'lho groonwood, biokon i>nlv in win- 
tiM- bv tho wooilnian's a\i\ Ivush, mad uionslor that. 
\-on arr, i>ast Non slill housi! hall' hidiK-n luMioalh ils 
t'hns of iho iHMiluiios, ami givi^ no thought, to the niuto, 
ingloi'ious MilU>n wlio used to haunt, il. rnhappy \\v\\- 
nettell, j'^il'lrd lu-yond liie iMUinuMi lol, hiil doomeil by 
some unUnvaril tale to he ehained In his muek rake 
loi'i'ver! No im|>iiM isaloi\> (>!' lla.lv etuiKl rlnnie more 
reaililv than he; luil lu> never went larlhei- than to 
amuse the \illa!\'e shojiman ne\ei' within niv knowl 
«Hl_!';e; hut as I was one da\' walkin;>; down a e.rt^en 
lane, 1 was sutldenlv aware of some one behind me; 
and, nsinj;' ihe (>V(>s whieh we all havi' in \\\c baek ol' 
the head, .soiui asei-rtained that il was Kenneltell wheel- 
ing u Nvheelbai'row. h'or a. Kmi"; s|>aee lu> followed me 
at a resiu'elfnl tlislanee, till 1 i>rt"S(MilI\ lunietl aside and 
plueked a buttei'eup, to let. luiu }>a.>^s. 'To my surprise, 
insteatl oi' ]>assiug, hi> set down his wheelbarrt>w, aiul 
wailed as jumi'liliousl v lor me to resun\(> m\- walk as 
if 1 had been a monareh (>f the Middle Ages, and he 
mv most, humble eourtier. rii'senllv bespoke: 

" Mav I be permilled to ask it' this is the author who 
is known bv the name o\' ' \' ilriol \' i\(Mi ?' '' 



TO TUIHA HY HMI.HOM). 129 

.1 was lat.lKT ()V<'ic,()tiic. I liad iicvr li(;iii| oC iiim 
CXC(!pl' JiH " olil Kfiinctlc.ll " wil.ii or witlionl, l.lic a.<ljf:(;- 
tiv(! ))i'(;(ix(;(l ii (Irutikcti villa;j(! va;j;a,ljoii(l, vviUi /mcmI, 
i'ucilily ill wiil.in;-'; vcrMcu. I'ul it- wa,M a ;.M;iitJ(;itiaii wlio 
addrCHHcd mr. wil.li tin; ('oiiiLliiif;;;'., t.ln; (IcCcrcncfr, iJa; 
cl(!f^an(;(! of iIk; old h<;1i(m>1 ; hin inamici' wan cnliicly 
H(;ir-[>'JHHCHH(;d, liiH words were dclihcratc, IiIh voici;, but 
for u certain IioIIowmcsm wliieli coiucm (Voiu diH;-;ijtal.ioii, 
cultivated. Wliat evil liiiry IVcjwncd upon hin cradle, 
and Hcnt liira Htoof/ui}/, U^tterin/.^, maudlin^.'; tlir(ju/.di 
tho BtrcctH, in a Holitary and diHli(niorcd (jld ap;*;, in- 
Htead of Hctting him to grace ami illu.'il.raU; liiw time? 
lie Hhould liavo )>ecn Kcnncttell, poet and /.gentleman, 
instead of \\n\\^\u\<t^ around the 8hoc-rnakerH' Hliopn 
ol(i Kcnnellf'll, lialf eia/,y, and, when he Im uol cia/.y, 
drunk, 

"Not a hit of it," 1 an;;wered, h(;artily, hut f^'l/.in<.^ all 
the while into IiIm heavy eyct, if peiliap:', I might Home- 
wli(!i'(;, Honiehow, Hee the Kennettell that CJod meant, 
riHing, evolving, (jxtrieating itKelf from the Kftnncttell 
tha,t ha<l heeonie. " Not a hit of it. I am only inyMell'; 
Ijut y(ju, i iiear, are. given to eompf^Hilion." 

" I am, indeed, not unuH(;d Uy the pen. In my earlier 
<layH, I used to eruitiihute to Heveial pei iodiealH." 

" IJn(]er your own name?" 

"Sometime'H, hut UHually under a pseudonym. My 
liivorite name was l{,ina.ldo, and tha,t title I uHCii moMt 
ri-(;qiu;ntly," 

"1 Khould like much to WM Kome of your writingH. 

Have you pi'cHftrved any (^i'thern?" 

"None. 'I'hey floated aljout in the ' Kadi en' Maga- 
,3% 



130 TWELVI^ MILES FROM A LEMON. 

zine,' in ' The Boston ^[irror,' and in many other papers. 
I used to be much solicited and well paid." 

x\.nd through some fatal moral gravity, some irresisti- 
ble downward tendency, this man lost the heights he 
should have gained — did for his fellows no better serv- 
ice than to tend through the small-pox some wretched 
scalawag, whose bedside, indeed, he would occasionally 
leave for a while, to go around and make a friendly 
call on the neighbors, so that the small-jiox had a fair 
chance to show its hand ; and if it did not embrace the 
opportunity, and the population too, it must have been 
an inferior article. 

Thus he maundered through his feeble, useless life, 
and died in the poor-house. The home of his haunting 
stands silent under the hill, and out of his grave comes 
no voice. Faint spark of divine life, dim glimmering 
through degraded years, choked out of the world at 
last, is there never and nowhere any relighting? 

Whiz and roar and clatter and shake and rush, as if 
the one object in life were to get away from, and get 
to, somewhere. Passengers from near and far, why do 
you look so careless and vacant? AVhy do you chat- 
ter and chatter, and see nothing? Conductor, put down 
the brakes, take off your polished label from your 
breast, and be a man. Do you see that old woman 
swinging in yonder bent apple-tree? No? What are 
your eyes good for? It is Grandmother Hubbard, in 
her grave these fifty years, swinging on the bent apple- 
tree. Who is Grandmother Hubbard? Oh! that I can 
not tell you. She was born, and became a grandmoth- 
er, and died. So much is in her name. But of all her 



TO TUDIZ BY RAILROAD. 131 

long life of love or hate, of pleasure or sorrow, of good 
or evil doing, this only remains by tradition for future 
ages to the world's benefit, that in this bent apple-tree 
she used to sit and swing. Whether in her grand- 
motherly or pre-grandmotherly days she thus laid the 
foundation of her post-mortem biography, we are not 
informed. My childish eyes always saw her there in 
octogenarian cap and glasses, a wrinkled and decrepit 
woman, bowed almost to the angle of the tree she 
swung on. It is not much to tell — an immortality of 
little worth — faint essence to extract from the long tur- 
moil of a woman's life — its sole savor left in departing; 
but it was accident, not essence. Somewhere — unre- 
corded perhaps in the world's annals, but not unrecog- 
nized of the world's Creator — has floated out the aroma 
of that forgotten life, and still, over this alert and eager 
earth, broaden and circle the waves of impulse that she 
started. Down brakes ! Good conductor, do you not 
see the whole parish trooping to church along the path 
which you will assuredly plow across if you keep on 
this headlong way ? In the village church-yard they 
lie, every one, older than Noah and Methuselah ; do not 
you see them flitting under the hill, filing through the 
wood, dressed in their Sunday best — Uncle Tim trot- 
ting on rods before his wife, and waiting now and then 
for her to come up? They are crossing the brook, they 
are climbing the stile, they are opening the gate — stur- 
dy boys that are grandfathers now, and dead at that; 
and among the strong-limbed girls, perhaps, is that very 
Grandmother Ilubbard who swung out her name and 
fame on the bent apple-tree. The stile is taken away ; 



l;!2 VHAV, r/,' mili:s fuom a i.hmox. 

tlio {j;!iic is buill, inlo llio wall; llio puth has cri'[)L back 
into field; all llui jmrish goes to church by tlio new 
ro.'id; and only th(> oldest inhabitant and 1 know that 
there ever was a thoroughrare in this beautiful wiKl 
waste. liCivo it wild and waste and beautiful, 1 pray 
you, ni(Mi ajul brethren, and do nol crush our phanlonis 
under your iron wheels. 

What do they think ol' you at Mingo's?- lh(> nicrry 
ini])H, the graceless, dare-cK'vil, do-nothing, liap])y-go- 
easy gnon\es, .'^parks of Southern Yuw borne by a wan- 
ton wind to this unttMider North, glitt(M'ing a short, gi'o- 
les(pi(; iile, .and going out foi'evcr? (MiildiHMi of ihe 
))alni-ti'ee and tlu^ destu't and the lervid tropical sun, 
souv(Miii's ol' the Sphinx and the I'yi'amids and the eter- 
nal i'(']u)se of higvi't, wrenclu'd out of all iheir ])oetrv, 
their cahuness, their broad, still civili/ation, Hung uj) 
bare and defenseless against our hai'd, foreign ways, our 
cold, rugged, unnatuial life — I^'g.ypt and the Sphinx 
W(Uit quickly out of them, aiul they were nothing but a 
i'aniily of "niggers," .shiftless, worthless, ne'er-do-well, 
glad of the eruinbs whieh fell evt'u from ))ooi- mcMi's ta- 
bles. AVhat could they do but drop out of life oiu-. by 
one? There are wreaths of blinding snow which shut 
away the summer sun. I 'nih^r th(> bl(>ak hill tlu>y have 
whirled \\]^ ;i, cui'ious mound. 'rii(> belated, benumbed, 
bewildered ti'aveler, stilitai'y and intent, ])it,ehes through 
the cvcr-aeeumidating di'ifts, but st.umbl(\s upon this 
.and starts back, all his chilled blood shocked into sud- 
den h(\it and hori'or. It is the last, of tlu> meriy imj)s 
of Mingo's, lying in a druidcen death in the jiathway of 
the stoi'm, till death in sob(>r e.ai'ucst. ovcuMook him. So 



rn 'If III/. II Y IIMI.UOM). 138 

llicy (ln('U!(i onl. oC I.Ik; ;m'c.;iI, unknown inl.o ;i, nriirf>w, 
nirnlcHH, (Icgradcd lif'f, .'umI, udcr a lit,t,l(! f/rovlm;^ fin<l 
{j;rinning uiid gritnucinn^, drilled out Jif^'iin into a j/fcul 
unknown, and Icfl upon the carl.li l.li.'iL we- can Hco no 
in;itk' l;nl, " Min^^o'H :" yd, l<nowri unl,o (iod arc, jdl liin 
woi'kH; and if Ik; triUKl, uh(; for building-hlockH tJicw; un- 
Hluipcly and iniHifdiUy Ht.oiicH tlial will l.ak'c no polinii 
and (;riinil)l(; under Uic cliiHcI, il, Ih llic IciihI, oCmII pOHrti- 
bio rcaHOUH why w*; Hlioidd ni;d<'; t.lictn or Ickvc, f.liciri 
uriHiglitly and uiiHha[K;ly. 

Morry irn[)H, grim and grinnin;^ jdioKin, Had HluidowH, 
gotitlc and Hwoct pliaritoiriH, it iH no work oC mine. I 
never broke inf.o yf;ur (a.stneHHOH with Kiu'^ire and whiil- 
wind and ^wvy. I would have left you to your liauntH 
forever. Never Hhould l,li'; fof^t of tr;dlic, ot (4' pJijiHunj 
have [)reHHed your turf. Only Home wanderin;.^, wiHtf'ul 
wayfarer like rnrs uliould now and ilKm Jieigliteri your 
Holitude; only the familiar Htroke of the. IVr^Kty ;ix(r, or 
the cruHted huow erunehing under the pjitient feet u\ 
oxen, Hlio(dd liavf; softened, not broken, yr>ur olden Hi- 
lenee; only the gentle arid titnid eowH Hhould liave 
Ktood knee-deep at noontide in your KJnggiHli Kumrrifir 
brook, or browned along yf>ur aneient hill-Hide, Keareely 
more aneient than they. I'ut even to thin Hnorting, 
Herearnirig devil, let uh give hin due. lb; makeH liavocj 
among thf; ph.'iritf^mH; true, but it i.M ordy for a week. 
l)ouble, doubht, t()il and trouble, for Heven reKtIeHH dayH, 
and then a year of reHt again an <leef) a.s the efinturieH, 
Ordy a week, and the iron raiks nhall lie 'M Htill an the 
earth that holdn them, and the dead gcncratioriH Bhall 
eorne bae,k to their h.'iuntH, an noiwtleHH aH of old. And 



KU TWKLrE J^flLES FJiOM A LKMOX. 

for that w'ook, though ho Intterlv disturb the dead, this 
fi-nntic and ruthless demon, consider, 1 pray you, fair 
ohosts, how nuioh sueeor he hrinos the livinu". The 
great and terrible crowds that used to descend into our 
very door-yards, drink all our watei-s dry, choke us wiih 
clouds of dust, jostle us in our own streets — these 
crowds he swallows as deitly as a snake her endanger- 
ed young, and leaves us clean and content to go in the 
old paths. Ail the booths and stalls that sprung up on 
our bordei"S for one vigorous week; candy -tents and 
coftce-barraeks ; counters that invited you to buy baked 
beans and brown bread, stalled oysters and hatred there- 
with ; marvelous menageries, that promised to show 
you a Hindoo cow, and a Persian ox, and a performing 
pig, and a Kentucky giantess, and a boa-constrictor, for 
the moderate sum of ten cents, children half-price; fan- 
dangoes that invited you to swing; and hobby-horses 
without leg's, wliereon you might ride in a sort of 
round-robin for live minutes and five cents; bears that 
danced, and monkeys that dressed — all these this rapa- 
cious and remorseless demon, this kindly and merciful 
genius, has drawn into his capacious maw. and let us 
have peace. 

Yet the world is never unanimous, and every bless- 
ing has its drawback. 

"Oh mamma!"' cries our little maiden of four suni- 
mers, with vivid memories of previous delight and un- 
shed tears of disappointment filming her black eyes, 
"Oh mamma! T went to camp-meeting, and didn't see 
the bear !'' 



TUB UIOUER LAWS OF liAILItOADli. 135 



IX. 

THE niGITER LA WH OF RAILR OAUH. 

To country-folk, railroads are Manifest Destiny. So 
much of our life is connected with them, that the Kule 
of the Koad concerns us deeply. The courtesies, com- 
forts, and customs of the railroad come home to men's 
business and bosoms. 

In favored hours we are wont to say there are no 
disagreeable travelers. ^Ve are impressed with the con- 
sideration whieli traveling Americans show each other, 
and we even marvel witliin ourselves, "What becomes 
of the disagreeable people ?" 

For, alas! much as we love our country, we can not 
persuade ourselves that our countrymen and country- 
women are always and everywhere amiable. In all 
classes there must be a degree of irritability, impa- 
tience, selfishness, unwisdom, which at times renders 
the closest of friends a little outrageous and intolerable 
to each other. They impute motives, and make re- 
quirements, and misunderstand, and meddle, in a man- 
ner which is exceedingly annoying when the tempera- 
ture is at three or four hundred in the shade, though 
we are ashamed to remember it when the thermometer 
ranges back to a reasonable figure. But apparently 
these people do not travel ; with all the flitting to and 
fro which the summer months invariably witness, any 



136 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

thing like rank disco urtes}^, positive impoliteness, stud- 
ied or even indifferent ill-manners, is rarely seen. We 
have traveled hither and yon, by steamer, railroad-train, 
stage-coach, and pleasure-wagon, and have remarked an 
almost entire absence of social rudeness or unkindness 
or ill-bred selfishness among American travelers. It 
is unquestionably hard, when you arc luxuriously loun- 
ging in four scats of a railway-carriage, to be called upon 
to relinquish three of them, and pile your parcels over- 
head or underfoot, or in your lap; but our American 
saints have done it without a murmur — even more, with 
a* smile. It must be exasperating to pounce upon an 
empty chair on a crowded deck, and meet the smiling 
sentence " engaged," but we have never failed to see 
the claim recognized. The man who will lower bis 
umbrella, and be content to broil on the top of a stage- 
coach, that he may not break the view of his neighbor, 
is entitled to rank in the calendar hard by St. Lawrence 
on his gridiron. Nor has he any mean claim to canon- 
ization who will hush the clamors of his own appetite, 
and supplement the services of slow or overworked 
servants, by ministering the daintiest tidbits of the ho- 
tel table to hungry Samaritan strangers. All this, and 
more, have our eyes seen in these later days. Consid- 
eration, courtesy, helpfulness are the rule: rudeness is 
the exception. 

Is it that the disagreeable people stay at home, or 
that they leave their disagrecableness at home? Per- 
haps a little of both. Disagrecableness is oftener than 
any thing else mere impatience, petulance, irritability, 
narrowness, arising not from natural qualities, but from 



THE inOIIER LAWS OF RAILROADS. 137 

a too restricted life. Homo is the natural centre of the 
world; but too much staying there unfits one to make 
home what it should be. It is necessary for the father 
and mother to break up the routine of their days, to go 
out into a fresh world, to change air and sky and scen- 
ery, to see new faces, and be surrounded by new inter- 
ests. It is better even that they should be tired, con- 
fused, perplexed by unwonted cares, than that they 
should forever tread the old, dull round of things. A 
woman goes back to her home with a better apprecia- 
tion of its value for having spent some time away from 
it. To women the change afforded even by a short 
journey is at once more necessary and more benefi- 
cial than to men. The every-day work of nearly all 
men brings them into contact with the breezy, out-door 
world, while the work of women is isolating, if not ab- 
solutely solitar}^ When a woman starts on a pleasure- 
trip, she leaves the whole care of housekeeping behind 
her, without assuming new cares. Perhaps few men 
can realize what a positive luxury it is to the house- 
mother to sit down to a meal for which she has no re- 
sponsibility. The mere fact that she does not know 
beforehand upon what meat her Cicsar and herself shall 
feed, is a wondrous appetizer. Many an excellent wom- 
an is disagreeable simply because she is wearied, wor- 
ried, and worn with too long spinning in one groove. 
The chain ever around the neck galls and irritates. 
But the front gate clicks behind her; she takes car or 
coach ; she no longer serves, but is served ; the perfect 
leisure tranquilizes her strained nerves; the new sur- 
roundings awaken her dormant interest. Old cares 



loS nVKl.VK MILKS rfiO.V A /-AWO.V. 

t-livp olV fi\Mi\ hor, miiui and honn nro ivvivod ;uul ro« 
I'lYshed, aiul she is smiling, and kind, and agrooablo, be- 
canso she is hor true self. If the dav of Woman's 
.Higlus ever da\Yns on this benighted land, the liist law 
enacted b_v the Woman's (."ongivss should be that eveiT 
woman shall spend one month of evei'v vear away from 
home. And if the law shall be presently amended so 
as not to include visiting, but to make the n)oi\ih's ab- 
sence a month of pure journeying, or at least of living 
among etuiiv strangers, so mueli the better. 

And here, beeauj^e benevolence is all-comprehensive, 
let lis put in a Nvord for that lonii-sulVenng class, the 
unhappy gentlemen who travel without ladies. True, 
the unsophisticated mind spontaneously demands what 
right has any gvntleman to be traveling without ladies? 
and to that querv it would not be casv to civc a satis- 
factory reply ; but gentlemen do sometimes travel with- 
out ladies, and in that case aixj put to the torture of see- 
ing their comrades maivlnng. under female banners, 
into clean and orderly ears, while they are forced tor- 
lorn into dens of smoking and swearing and all un- 
deanness. such as the natural man seems to revel in 
when lel\ to his own devices, unrestrained by female in- 
fluence. Can there be a stix)nger testimony to the pow- 
er of woman's intluenee than the misery of a man who 
has been reared nnder it, and is doomed for a time to 
the society of those who have been git>atly debarred 
fivjn it'? ''It is.hell,"says a devont Swedenborgian of 
our acquaintance: and when you are in a railway-car 
with a man given to tobacco, and not wcll-bivd. you 
feel that the SwedenlK»rgiau dialect is not too strong. 



77/ A' lllUIIKIt LAWS 0J<' /{A/LKOA/jS. \ ','/.) 

There in much reprehension of tlie indifference with 
which fcrnalc truvelerH receive tlic courtefiies of men, 
and there is doubtlcsH some ground for rcprelieriKion ; 
but the combined ingratitude of female America is not 
so great an offense, and does not produce so much dis- 
comfort, not to suy dinguKt, as does tlie use of toljacco 
by a part of the male traveling public. 'J'he employ- 
ment of smoking-cars only partially remedies the evil, 
for smoking is its least offensive phase; and when tlie 
Woman's (J(jngress has its first law well rooted and 
grounded in the habits of the people, it may go on im- 
mediately to enact and cnfor<!e the second : that any 
man who so disregards the proprieties and the cleanli- 
nesses of life as to outrage the senses of his neighbors, 
and leave the floor in his vicinage unfit for occupancy, 
shall be forever prohibited from public vehicles and 
forced to make all his journeys afoot! 

But there is a tide in the opinions as well as in the af- 
fairs of men, and that tide of late seems to have set rath- 
er strongly against female politeness. If we may judge 
from the newspapers, good manners in public, consider- 
ation for others, have clean gone out of the list of wom- 
an's charms. The sweet, gentle angel of poetry and 
sentiment, the creature too bright and good for human 
nature's daily food, has folded her white wings, and 
there reigns in her stead a selfish, scowling, exacting fe- 
male man, who keeps what she gets and gets what she 
can ; who ignores rights, disdains thanks, and frowns 
with only less Kfverity upon him who proffers than 
upon him who withholds the only seat in the crowded 
car. 



[{() TWKLrK MILKS FROM A LKMOX. 

Wo all know tho oalmnov^^ tho Justioo, tho impartial- 
ity of t)»e piYSiJ, and iixMu its^ decision there is no appeal. 
It' the newjipapors atVnun that Nvonien in transiin are 
nule and soltisb. rude and seltish thev must be, lor 

"\YIk» can comoi\vi with his lovvlsy" 

Pnit is not a panlonaMe al)straotion, a nervous anxiety, 
sometimes nustaken lor unpanlonable incivility? A 
man relinquishes his seat to a woman, she accepts it 
without acknowledgment, and down it goes as another 
instance of ungracetul and ungnieious n\anners. It may 
not be sublime gxxxl mannei's, but bethink yon, oh! man 
and biviher, who g\) your raihvad journey of twenty 
miles every morning to your business and every even- 
ing to your home, and to whom a raihvad journey is 
no moiv than stepping fivm your parlor to your dining- 
wom, this way wanl sister, whoso ingratitude has pieived 
you so much sharper than a serpent s tooth, had to wind 
up the whole house to run a day without her befoi-e she 
started. Then she was hurried with dix^ssing. She had 
water- pivof. parasol, and ivticule, to begin with, and 
has innumerable smjxll paivcls before the day is over; 
she stepped on her gown stumbling up the car-stejv?, 
her flounces were shut into the door as she enteivd, her 
fringe was caught by some pivjection of the sofas, the 
paper aiv>und Jenny's hat is coming unpinned, and the 
ivll of calico is slipping from its string. She will cer- 
tainly fall a vietini to irresistible eentritugal law if she 
can not have a basis of operation to concentrate her 
scattering forces, and she is immensely ivlieved by your 
otVer of a seat. Oi' eoui-se it is a thousand pities that 



rillu II Kill Kit LA WS ()1<' ICAIIJOAIJS. 141 

she docs not thank you, Vjut i'h it not weakness rather 
than wickedness? 

Jiut there arc plenty of women — young, assured, and 
self-possessed — who arc equally inconsiderate. 

Yes, T saw two of them not long ago in an omnibus, 
handsome, hale, well-dressed, sitting at the head of the 
omnibus engrossed in conversation. Three men were on 
the same seat, and two men and three women on the op- 
posite scat. A gentleman opened the door — one of those 
good-humored, good-looking creatures who carry sun- 
shine with them, large in person and sympathy, at homo 
everywhere. He surveyed the scene a moment, counted 
aloud blithely, " one, two, three, four, five," on each side, 
and with great good sense bestowed himself on the side 
on which the male element predominated. The two 
women were so engaged that they did not notice his 
entrance, and in no wise contracted their amplitude. 
Of course, the men were rather crowded. But it is of 
no consequence if men are crowded. They have no 
ruffles to crush, no lace to tear, and their hats are over- 
head. These men were as they ought to be — good-na- 
tured — but they grimaced and contorted, and stretched 
their heads in mock mute appeal toward the uncon- 
scious women ; and above the rumbling and rattling 
one could hear praiseworthy snatches of sentiment, " it's 
their privilege," " our rulers." Such sweetness deserved 
recognition, and a passenger suggested that the ladies 
were unaware of theirposition, and would move at a word. 

"Just as comfortable as in my own house," ga.sped 
the hero; but at that moment the ladies became con- 
scious of the situation, and immediately made room. 



142 TWELVE jMTLES FROM A LEMON. 

I admit that perfect politeness is never unaware of 
situations; but imperfect politeness is of a wholly dif- 
ferent nature — is it not? — from positive rudeness. 

"You're another!" is the argument as well as the 
phrase of savages. Wherefore let us be savages for a 
little while. 

On certain, ])erhai)s on all, ferry-boats, one side is 
placarded as the "Ladies' Cabin," and one side as the 
" Gents' Cabin." Besides this, additional notices with- 
in tell you that "ladies have the first right to seats in 
this cabin." Yet have I, time and again, seen a row 
of men sitting in this cabin, reading their newspapers, 
while women were standing by in groups, unable to 
find a scat. Worse than this: I have seen women 
standing with babies in their arms while men occupied 
the seats! Now, as against a woman M'ith a baby, men 
have no rights which heaven or earth is bound to re- 
spect. What name, then, shall we give to that mass of 
organic life which })lnnders for itself the scat that of 
right belongs to such a woman ? 

"But women want to vote," you say, great-hearted 
gentlemen. "They want to go into the trades and fill 
the ofliccs, and do as men do. Let them, then, try it in 
all its length and breadth. They must take the chances 
just as men take them. They must not expect to act 
like men and be treated like women." 

Infatuated men ! lierc is where the \ni opens its 
mouth and swallows you down, and you have not a 
foot left to stand on, and no place to plant one if you 
had as many as a centipede. Women want to vote, 
you say, and therefore they shall rough it. V>\.\i they 



TUN UKIUKR LAWS OF UMLROADS. 143 

do not vote. You luivo not yet gi'antcd tlioni tlio vote, 
whether they want it or not. You ai'o (hnible and 
twisted lyi'ants; when women com])hiin of the U\\c of 
bricks, you do notdiniinisli the tak^, but you take away 
tlic straw, and say, "'Phis is what you want, is it? Sec 
how you like it I" Do you tliink that is calcuhited to 
inspire a woman with a respect I'or your sense of justice? 
We have heard of liangin<^ a man lirst, and trying liini 
afterwanl ; but these women you hang first, and try not 
at alk When women actually vote, they may suller the 
penalty of voting; but when you thus anticipate dis- 
ease with your brimstone and treacle, O generation of 
Squccrses! you add to your despotism hy[)ocris3\ 

Do you complain that women do not thatdc you for 
your relinquished scats? You have no claim upon 
their thanks. You have no right to the scats. Not a 
man in any public conveyance has a right to a scat so 
long as a woman stands. Chivalry? Not at all! It 
is naked justice. You arrogate to yourselves the man- 
agement of all modes of travel. You permit women 
no voice therein. You charter all the companies. You 
have the right and the power to compel these com])a- 
nies to furnish seats to all their passengers. You do 
nothing of the sort. You arc dogs in the manger. You 
will neither provide seats for female passengers, nor will 
you suffer them to provide scats for themselves. You 
force a woman into the attitude of the recipient of a fa- 
vor where she has really paid full market price. Ask 
her to thank you for giving you her seat? You might 
better thank her for not ejecting you from the car. It is 
asking her to kiss the rod which ought to be laid about 



144 TWELVU MILES FROM A LEMON. 

your own shoulders. The man who docs not give up 
his seat to a woman is simply dead in trespasses and 
sins. The man who does give up his seat is only so far 
alive as to proclaim himself an unprofitable servant: he 
has done only a fractional part of that which it ^Yas his 
duty to do. 

I would, indeed, that a woman should always accept 
these duties with the voice, the smile, the gesture of 
thanks; but I would that men should always under- 
stand that she does not mean any thing by it! I would 
have her do it because it is graceful, and grace is in- 
stinctive, and not reasoning. The polite hangman did 
not apologize to the culprit whom he was about to drop 
off because there was any thing to apologize for. I 
would have women so innately, so organicall}'', so help- 
lessly high-bred, that they should smile and smile even 
upon the villains who, by their own action, aid and abet 
the crowding of railroad trains. Moreover, if reason 
be admissible where impulse is the only saving grace, 
so great is the power of courtesy that I dare say men 
will sooner be brought to a sense of guilt by receiving 
undeserved mercy than severe justice. People in the 
country arc often annoyed by peddlers, frequent in vis- 
its and voluble in proffers. As these peddlers are hu- 
man beings, whom we must assume to be engaged in 
an honest calling, it is difficult to see why they should 
not be courteously met. But apart from the fact that it 
is pleasanter to be pleasant, I have ever observed that 
your peddler is more easily gotten rid of hy smiles than 
frowns. To the froward he is very apt to show himself 
froward ; but he is speedily smothered with sweetness. 



THE HIGHER LAWS OF MAILROADS. 145 

So let women be always and everywhere gracious, 
because God hath made them so ; but let that gracious- 
ncss be to men a means of grace, and not an engine of 
destruction. When women are allowed to vote it will 
be time to talk about letting them stand in public car- 
riages; but until then the least a man can do is to lie 
with his hand on his mouth, and his mouth in the dust, 
till every woman is comfortably seated. 

The tradition that men always do resign to women 
their seats in pubHc carriages may as well yield to the 
established fact that they do not. Voting or no voting, 
it is very common to see men sitting and women stand- 
ing in the horse-cars, and it is a sight not unseen in 
steam-cars. In and about Boston the rule seems to be, 
"first come first served." The cars are daily filled to 
their utmost capacity — seats, aisles, and platforms; and 
a woman takes her chance with the rest. In New York, 
I think, she fares better; in Philadelphia, better still; 
while in Washington the traveling mind has been train- 
ed to a politeness which leaves nothing to be desired. 

The excuse of recreant knights, those Bayards suffer- 
ing fear and deprecating reproach — their excuse until 
they bethought themselves of the suffrage — is, that they 
are tired. They have been on duty all day, and their 
fatigue is such that they do not feel bound to yield their 
rest in favor of women who, for aught they know, are 
simply amusing themselves with shopping or jaunting. 

And this is a comparatively valid excuse. At least, 
it is not depravity so total as is involved in what one 
is tempted to call the voting dodge. Only say it out 
boldly, and stand by it. To be sure, dear sirs, you 

7 



I-IC) TWELVE MILES FUOM A LKMCLV. 

conlbss yourselves shambling and incflectivc. It im- 
plies tbcat you give in to niilroad corporations, and visit 
upon women the consequences of your cowardice and 
your weakness. But, with all your faults — and their 
name is legion — women love you still, sitting still even, 
and pity you infinitely ; and if you will frankly say, and 
confine yourself to saying, that you arc tired, although 
you arc not half so tired as they — will throw your- 
self on their compassion, even when you ought to launch 
out for reform instead, they will not only pity you, but 
— such is the unreasoning and unspeakable forbearance 
of female human nature — ten to one they will urge you 
to retain or resume your scat, and count you a hero and 
martyr into the bargain. But do not bo hy})ocritical 
and Pharisaical, and call it even-handed justice. Do 
not lay to woman sullVngo what springs only froni man- 
sufiering. 

But ncitlu'r chivalry nor justice requires that a wom- 
an shall occupy two seats in a I'ailway-carriagc when 
she has jiaid for only one, says her male censor. Y(>t a 
woman will coolly bestow herself and hcv belongings 
upon the whole sofa, while gentlemen walk up and 
down the aisle searching vainly for a seat. 

If I were not obstinately bent on being reasonable, 
moderate, and far within bounds, on making no asser- 
tion which any right-minded man would refuse to ad- 
mit at first sight, I would say that such an arrangement 
is no more than fair. Look at the flounces, the over- 
skirts, the paniers, the ribbons, wherewithal men over- 
load women, or — to change the name but keep the pain 
— wherewith social exigency ovei'loads women, and then 



THE HIGHER LA WS OF RAILROADS. 147 

say if twice the space allotted to men is not a very 
modest estim.ate of what women need. I am quite con- 
fident that if men should devise for themselves a similar 
garb, they would be quite as blind as women to super- 
fluous passengers wandering about in search of a seat. 

But we will lay no stress on that. "We will admit 
that women, like men, have a right only to the scat 
they have bought; and then I ask, how many times 
since the existence of railroads in this country has it 
happened that a woman has refused or has churlishly 
consented to relinquish the space which did not belong 
to her? One would suppose sometimes that it was the 
common rule. It is not necessarily uncivil or ill-bred 
for a woman not to offer her sofa, uncalled for, to an 
able-bodied man. If there is no seat in this car, per- 
haps there is in the next; and it is far less trouble for 
him to go to it than for her to shrink into the compass 
of half a sofa. If the other places are all occupied, and 
the gentleman, by a word or even a look, signifies bis 
desire for the one she holds, she seldom, dreams of doing 
any thing but resign it at once, without a protest, with- 
out even a thought. If there are women otherwise 
minded, I have nothing to say for them. Let them be 
given up immediately to fire and sword. But it is not 
a deadly sin for a woman to be staring out of a win- 
dow, with calm, eternal eyes, while a few superfluous 
men are walking up and down seeking whom they may 
devour. 

It is not half so atrocious as what I have frequently 
seen — a man enter a car where a dozen men were oc- 
cupying the sofas alone, and deliberately place himself 



148 TWELVE MILES FMOM A LEMOX. 

beside a woman! That is pure malice. The golden 
rale requires that never a woman shall be disturbed in 
the possession of her sofli till every man has been dis- 
turbed in his. This is not chivalry. It is simply folds 
and flounces. If any man finds this unreasonable, let 
him take it on trust. One hour of the folds and 
flounces himself would establish him in the truth for- 
ever. 

So have I seen on the ferry-boats, to •which I have 
before referred, men occupying women's seats when 
their own empty ones were distinctly visible on the op- 
posite side. What infatuation possesses you, men and 
brethren, thus to rush out of your sphere? Why not 
stay with your kind, and leave women to themselves? 
A woman can neither refresh nor revenge herself by 
going over to your side of the boat. You poach on 
her manor without fear of reprisals ; and if she does not 
gush forth gratitude when you ofi'er late and scant jus- 
tice, you send a paragraph to the newspapers bemoan- 
ing the deterioration of female manners! 

"Fleet foot on the covrei, 
8age counsel in cumber, 
Ked hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber," 

when thine own small sins pass before thee ! 

Alas! one woman among a thousand have I seen. 
She was well dressed, and to the casual glance looked 
like a lady. She had pre-empted four seats in the 
crowded car. I had followed a brilliant friend into the 
train for the pleasure of half an hour's chat. My friend 
was standing by the empty seats, running up a flag of 



THE niGlIER LA^y^ OF EAILROADS. 149 

distress. " There are no seats to be had but these, and 
these arc not to be had. .Engaged." 

" I don't know," said an incredulous gentleman near. 
"I have been waiting half an hour, and nobody has 
been in during that time." 

I remembered the precepts and example of an elder 
in Israel, for such case made and provided, and said 
blandly: "We will occupy the seats till your friends 
come, with your permission." The lady made no reply. 
She gave no sign of assent. Not a smile flitted across 
her face. On the contrary, she assumed a severity of 
aspect that would strike a chill to the warmest heart. 
Her silence became sonorous with disapprobation. The 
very corn-sheaves of her bonnet bristled with displeas- 
ure. Seeing that we were about to be annihilated, we 
took our lives in our hands, and turned the back of the 
seat so that we should not be forced to confront that 
awful visage, adding, apologetically, "When your friends 
come, the seat shall be turned back again." But no re- 
lenting softened the outlines of the stern countenance. 
Then we began our longed-for talk, and the minutes 
flew, and the engine snorted, and the train gave its in- 
itiative jerk, and we rolled out of the grumbling and 
smoky station ; and then came up a young man, one 
young man, to the lady behind us — only one young 
man, and no more. Thereupon I turned to the disap- 
pointed lady, and said, meekly, " Your friends have not 
come?" 

Tiien and there broke out the irrepressible conflict. 
Forth from the irate lips, with a deliberation of utter- 
ance, with an asperity of tone, and an acerbity of ges- 



150 TWKLVF MILA'S FJWM A Lh'MOX. 

ture, of which mortal pen can give little notion, and un- 
der which a terriliod soul still shivers, came the deci- 
sive answer, 

"They— /anr— not!" 

Nothing but conscious iiniocenee could sustain one 
in this trying ordeal. 

Now that I have told the story, I hardly believe it, 
for the woman herself, with her causeless pugnacit}^, 
her harsh tones, and her theatric head-tossings, seemed 
like a character just stepped out of Dickens's novels, 
I'ather than like a flesh-and-blood woman going home 
to husband and children, and sitting-room and supper. 

Oh, my soul ! come thou into her secret, if such a 
thing may be. What are the views of life held by such 
a one? More particularly, what are her views of car- 
soHis, and the rights of the road? AVhen one bu3-s a 
ticket, he is strictly entitled to one seat — no more. Is 
any person legally entitled to a seat he does not occu- 
jiy ? Suppose we go into the smoking-car, or the bag- 
gage-car, or take a ride on the engine; does our right 
to the seat in the ordinary car not lapse? If not, then 
one ticket entitles the holder to two places : one in the 
smoking-car, and one in the ordinary car, while his un- 
lucky neighbor is perhaps obliged to stand. On the 
contrary, one ticket entitles the holder to one scat, 
which is his only while he occupies it. llis coat, his 
liat, his newspaper, constitute his valid claim when he 
returns, but do not forbid his weary neighbor to occupy 
it without discourtesy while he is gone. Wherefore, 
let us hope that time and reflection will soften the judg- 
ment of our aggrieved country-woman, and that she will 



TIII'J Jit a II EH LAWS OF HAJIJiOADS. 151 

not go down to her grave accounting us banditti and 
interlopers, Gotlis and Vandals, preying upon the un- 
protected, and reckless of all law but might. 

I do not mind confessing that any fall from grace on 
the part of a woman is more grievous than a similar fall 
in a man. Not that women are under stronger bonds 
tlian men to keep the peace. Not one jot or tittle of 
a man's duty shall be remitted ! Yet it remains, that 
though a man's discourtesy may be repulsive, it docs 
not becloud the sun in the heavens. But where a 
woman is uncivil, the very inward light is turned to 
darkness. 

There are certain points of good manners in which 
women fail, which yet seem to have been greatly over- 
looked by their censors. Pei'haps we ought not to say 
women, for the class is undoubtedly small ; but the one 
woman who behaves badly attracts more attention than 
llie nine hundi'cd and ninety-nine well disposed; and 
when even one woman falls below the proper standard, 
all women seem, somehow, to be humiliated thereby. 

In connection with our public schools there is spring- 
ing up a school of ungracefulness and indelicacy which, 
to my thinking, goes far to neutralize the good wrought 
by the former. Groups of girls travel daily from the 
country villages, three, five, ten miles over tlie steam 
and hor.se railroads, to the normal and high schools of 
the city, and return at night. What is cause and what 
is effect I do not know; but these girls sometimes con- 
duct themselves so rudely as to force upon one the con- 
viction that it would be better for women not to know 
the alphabet, if they must take on so much roughness 



152 'J^VKLVK MILKS FJi\KM A l.KMOX. 

along with it. Tvpioal American girls, pretty, gentle- 
faced, intelligent-looking, well-ilressed, will till a ear 
with idle, vulgar, boisterous chatter. Out of rosy, deli- 
cate lips come the voices — of draymen, I was about to 
say, but that is not true ; for the voices of these girls 
are like nothing in the heavens above or the earth 
beneath. The only quality of womanliness they possess 
is weakness. AVithout depth, richness, or force, they 
are thin, harsh, inevitable. They do not so much till 
the space as they penetrate it. Three or i'our such girls 
will gather face to face, and from beginning to end of 
their joui-ncv }Hnir I'orth a ceaseless torrent oi' giddy 
gabble, utterly regardless oi' any other presence than 
their own. They will talk of their teachers and school- 
mates by name, of their parties and plans, of their stud- 
ies, their dresses, their most pei-sonal and private mat- 
tei-s, with an extravagance, with an incoherency. with 
an inelegance and coarseness of }>hraseology, which is 
disgracel'ul alike to their schools and to their homes. 
They will compel without scruple and bear without 
llinching the eyes oi^ a whole carriage-load of passen- 
e'crs. Indeed, the notice of strangers seems sometimes 
to be the inspiration of their noisy, unmelodious clatter. 
They apparently think that this is to be sprightly, arch, 
high-spirited, and winning, not perceiving that a really 
high-toned and high-bred girl would as soon jump over 
a stick in a circus as turn hei"self into such a spectacle. 
There is nothing winning about it. The absolute ex- 
travagance and nonsense of it will sometimes excite a 
smile from thoughtlessness, but it is a smile less com- 
plimentary than a frown. No amount oi' acquisition, 



TJJJ'J JIIGJIKH l.A \VS OF JiMJJi(JAJjS. J o^j 

no mental training, can atone for such demeanor. If 
the two arc incompatible, it is better for a woman not to 
know the multiplication tabic than not to be gentle- 
mannered. If a woman is vulgarly ///-ononce, the more 
she knows the worse. I could sometimes wish that our 
far-famed schools would stop their algebra, stop their 
Latin, stop their philosophies, and give their undivided 
attention to teaching their pupils how to talk. It may 
not be po.ssible to make them talk sense, but surely, 
they can be made to talk nonsense gracefully. Not 
all can have musical voices; but, upon pain of death, I 
would have girls taught to speak low. Training can 
do much in the way of melody and sweetness, but a 
voice that is softly modulated can not be violently dis- 
agreeable. And if a girl's tongue is incorrigible, let her 
be dispossessed of it altogether. 

The pronunciation and the rhetoric of these girls are 
a disgrace to their ciders. Words and syllables are 
clipped, twisted, run together, mingled, mangled, and • 
muddled into a dialect fit for savages. Girls who can 
read Virgil and calculate an eclipse will employ in con- 
versation a jargon that would stamp them with the 
stamp of intolerable vulgarity at any well-bred dinner- 
table. What cruelty, what waste is this! It is so easy 
not to offend, it is so hard not to be stupid. It is so 
unimportant to be learned, it is so indispensable to be 
well-mannered. Why give time and pains unmeasured 
to mental acquisition, and then neutralise it all by a 
ruffianly exterior? AVhy cast an odium upon education 
by associating it with uneouthness? 

There are disadvantages worse than these, if any 
7* 



lo-t 7'irA7.rA' MiLi:^ Fh'OM A lj-:mox. 

thing can be worse, in sending girls to school over 
the railroads. They somehow become common. They 
cheapen themselves. They lose, if they ever possessed, 
they destroy before they are old enough to feel, the di- 
vinity that should hedge a woman. They fall into — I 
can hardly dignify it with the name of flirtation — but 
into a sort of bantering communication with unknown 
men, employes of the railroad, and season travelers — a 
•traffic which is liUal to dignity in woman, and inspires 
no reverence in man. And this passes for liveliness 
and attractiveness, or at most, perhaps, it is being a lit- 
tle wild. But it is a wildness which girls can not aftbrd. 
]'>elicacy is not a thing which can be lost and found. 
No art can restore to the grape its bloom ; and the su- 
preme charm of the grape is its bloom. Familiarity 
without love, without confidence, without regard, is de- 
structive to all that makes woman exalting and enno- 
bling. 

There are other displays of ill manners which are al- 
most incredible. Girls will sit with their faces toward 
the passengers, and eat oranges in the most sloven- 
ly, but the most unconcerned, manner, and then pelt 
each other with bits of peel across the aisle. They will 
scatter the crumbs and paper of their lunch over the 
floor and softis. I have seen the clean, tidy waiting- 
room of the railroad station strewn with pea-nut shells 
— not always, I fear, by women young enough to be 
called girls. Such things are simply disgusting. Clean- 
liness, order, propriety, are not local or incidental qual- 
ities. They are inherent, inbred. A lady will no sooner 
be untidy in one place than in another. She will no 



THE IlIGUER LAWS OF liAILROALS. loo 

more throw nut-shells on the bare floor of a station- 
room than on her own parlor carpet. She will no 
sooner thrust a penknife into the leather lining of the 
station sofa than she would into the velvet u2:)holstery 
of her own. 

" The world is wide, these things are small ; 
They may be nothing, but they are all." 

Nothing? It is the first duty of woman to be a lady. 
The woman who says that this is making much ado 
about nothing is the woman who will accost you by 
name, when you enter a car, in a tone that introduces 
you to every person in it, and makes you wish that the 
part she occupies had run off the track at the last 
bridge. She is the woman who, under the pretext of 
conversing with one or two friends, informs the whole 
car company of her views on woman's rights and her 
relations with her husband. She is the woman who, in 
a public assembly, when we are all momentarily expect- 
ing the lecturer or the singer to enter, rises in her place, 
fronts the audience, and stands two minutes waiting for 
or beckoning to some Sarah Jane to join her. Good- 
breeding is good sense. Bad manners in woman is im- 
morality. Awkwardness may be ineradicable. Bash- 
fulness is constitutional. Ignorance of etiquette is the 
result of circumstances. All can be condoned, and do 
not banish man or woman from the amenities of his 
kind. But self-possessed, unshrinking, and aggressive 
coarseness of demeanor may be reckoned a State prison 
offense, and certainly merits that mild form of restraint 
called imprisonment for life. 



\M\ r\vt:i.rK juiij:s moM a kkmo.\\ 

Wo h:vYO not torgv^tton tho iv\r;\jiTaphs wriuow ;\t tlio 
tinio of tho vij^it ofiho r<raiui Uuko vMo^is. Mvmv than 
ono uowspapor ivjul Uvtmvs to our woiivow on pw^juio- 
tv of bohavior. 'Pho (.nauvl Huko, thov suivl, was ao- 
cu5*ton\iHi to soo ladios wait at hotno. atui not gv* ovit bo- 
vojid tlioir thivsholvls into tho harbor to iwvivo thoir 
visitorji, *" Uhish a littlo; tho Prinoo is u^50^1 to it," 
bivathod sonu'' anxious Moutor to tho girls, whon tl»o 
YOung Prinoo Artluir was totovl thi\^ugli tho ^vuntrv; 
auii OvMutnon ivjvrt put a tnoiv than hulv-liko in\portu- 
nitv into tho iwjuosis of sonio nianunas tor oj^portuiuly 
for thomsolvos and thoir danghtors to danco with tho 
rrinoe of Walos, Kvorv suoh suggostion is a)\ iuilig- 
nitv. It is a shan\o tor won\on to bo Uvtuivd on thoir 
juannors. It is a bittor shanio that thoy noovl it, 
Wonion ought to givo tl»o law, not loarn it, \\\M\ion 
aiv tho nn\piivs ot'svvioty. It is thov to whvMu all ilol- 
oivnoo shouKl bo paid, to whom all n\oot points should 
bo ivlonwl. To bo a ladv is mojv than to bo a prinoo. 
A lady is always in lior own right inalionably worthy 
of Inspect, To a lady, prinoo and poasant aliko Innv. 
How can a woman bo willing, tor tho sako ot'gratilying 
an idlo euriv^fsity or a potty prido. still loss at\ inoixli- 
i\,nto solf-sooking, how oau sho bo willing to sjioritioo tho 
niodosty, tho ivtioonoo, tho dignity, whioh should always 
eharaotori;:o hor? And yot this is a point on whioh 
woixls aiv usoloss, Tiu> papors nun- say to wvmuvmi. in 
i\^ugh or tlno phraso, "Stay at homo, and do not tln\nv 
youi^olvos into tho arms of primvs: bo quiot anil dig- 
jiiliod on your journoys," but that is not onough. ^Vo 
do not wish womon to bo suoh that tho papors vshall so 



'////',' II Id II 1.11. l..\Wh <)l'' llMLIlDMHi. UjI 

Kp<;uk. U(j not be n-Htmincd, l)(f not have impulwjx 
that ucA'A r<!Htniifit, Ifo not wlnh t^^ dur/^e with the 
Vt'tnca ufiK/jiight ; /y,/ (lin<;mf)tly. fir. xuch that you *y;fi- 
i'df honor, Carry yourH<;lv';H ho lo/'tily that rncn hhall 
Ir)olc V) yoii for reward, not at you in rebiikc. 'I'hc 
natunji Kcntifncfit of rnan f/jward woman in rcvaratKUi. 
llfi loxoH a large rn<;atiH of gra<^jc when he in ohligf;<l 
l/> ar^count her a being f/; be trained int<^i [>rof)riety. 
A rnan'H ideal in not wounded when a woman faiJH in 
worldly wiHdom; but if in gnvy;, in taet, in H(:td\uu:ut, 
in deliea<'!y, in kindlineKH, xhe be found wanting, he re- 
(Ui'wdH an inward hurt. Therefore, oh I women greatly 
beloved and greatly preached at — if not for (^)\irU'.Hy^H 
owrj Hweet Hake, Ktill for love'H Make, for humanity'n 
Hake, for the nake of the jK^or, /trong, untutored man 
who will die in their roughne«H uhU-.hh you polish them, 
who will go mourning all their dayH for an ideal unlexH 
you Hhc Htat^sly and w^mmandlng hoA'ora tliem; wIjo, 
for <tv<:i'y Inch of lapHe from you, will take an ell of li- 
c/tUMi for themnelven, and out of the frogn and toadH 
which drof> (torn your li[/H in idle rnomenfj* will con- 
Ktruet a whole men/igerie of unclean beantn, t// their own 
u/idoing - we pray you be m (UjurU-/mH\y uWccAutucA 
one toward another, in honor preferring one another, 
be KO fauItlcHH and ho ry^mpelling t/^;ward the helplcHH 
w;x, which lookn f/j you for guidanry;, that a rnati nhall 
no more think of prcHcribing rulcH or throwing out 
JiintH for your V^ehavior tlian of regiilating the Htar« 
in their <'/)\umiH\ but ruihnr uh the Hhipv/recked mar- 
iner findH hiH hope and nafety in the HtarH, ho man — 
whom it Ih alway« H,'jfe Ut connider an more or low a 



158 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

shipwreck — while employing all his energy in steer- 
ing his crazy craft through the wild waves, shall only 
need to keep his eyes fixed on you to know that he 
is going by a straight course to the haven where he 
would be ! 



HOLIDA YH. 159 



HOLIDA YS. 

Once there was a little girl wbo would Lave been 
very bappy with her two doll children, Emilins Alvah 
and Mary Maria, but for the sad thought which under- 
lay all her enjoyment that a time was coming when she 
could no longer play with dolls. Grown people had no 
dolls. What there could be to enliven the dreariness 
of existence when dolls should have gone by, the little 
lady could not imagine; and she found but cold com- 
fort in the determination that she would set herself res- 
olutely to drawing, and find in making pictures such 
satisfaction as might be left when the real piquancy of 
life should have passed away. 

But the years came and went. Mary Maria disap- 
peared wholly from the eyes of mortals, and no man 
knoweth her sepulchre to this day. Emilius Alvah, 
with a badly battered face, and a sadly shattered ankle, 
and a shocking bad hat, lay on a high shelf in a dark 
closet; and, strange to say, no one mourned him. His 
little mother grew to womanhood ; and, for the waste 
she looked to endure, she found life so exceedingly 
bright and sweet and full that she never had a regret, 
but only a pleasant rnemory, for Emilius Alvah and 
Mary Maria. 

Just as it is with individuals so it is with nations. 



100 TWELVE MILES FliOM A LEMOX 

Just as it would be for a woman to go back to her dolls 
for amusement, is it for a mature and intellectual nation 
to go back to the antics of a crude and rollicking pe- 
riod, or to attempt to adopt the antics of a crude and 
rollicking nation. There was a time when English- 
men entertained themselves and their wives by climbing 
greased poles and running sack-races. Men and women 
in Italy may still entertain themselves by putting on 
grotesque garments, and pelting each other with sugar- 
plums. But surely the American populace never pre- 
sented a more melancholy spectacle than in a certain at- 
tempt to adopt the Carnival as an American institution. 
Yet the attempt was not, necessarily, childish or un- 
worthy. There is a vague idea that Americans are too 
sedate, that they have not sufficient relaxation, that they 
ought to appoint more holidays. But what does the 
idea spring from? Amusement is for health, happi- 
ness, effectiveness. Do not the Americans live as long 
as other people? Are they not the happiest peo})le in 
the world? Are they really less effective than other 
people? What do we want of holidays? Probably we 
have come nearer than any other nation to equalizing 
work. A greater proportion of persons are actively 
engaged in business; a smaller proportion are suffering 
from intense and prolonged overwork, or from idleness. 
Just in the ratio of the equalization diminishes our 
need of holidays. The American workman is not a 
child with a set task, not a slave with an oppressive 
burden, but a free, intelligent, self-respecting, and self- 
guiding man. He lays out liis own life. lie reaps the 
reward of his labors. His work does not mean simply 



HOLIDAYS. 161 

bread-and-butter, and a dance under the Maj-polc, but 
solid beef and pudding, a deaconsbip in the cburcb, two 
weeks' summer board in the country, a piano for his 
daughter, and high-school, and perhaps college, for his 
son. Set him running a sack-race, indeed ! He literal- 
ly is the populace, at least of New England, The quiet 
country village, with its one meeting-house and four 
school-houses, may have a few exceptional tatterde- 
malions, recognized and tolerated, living from hand to 
mouth — a little Bohemia, half butt, half burden. But 
the mass of the people are such as the deacon aforesaid. 
They do not thank you for holidays. What they want 
more than the State prescribes they can take for them- 
selves without prcsci'iptions. Sometimes, when they 
come home from shop or market, they will buy a mask, 
with which their children will delight and affright them- 
selves for a week ; but a wagon-load of men and women 
going about the streets in sober-earnest masks, bow- 
ing to right and left, seems to them simply silly. A 
man striding along the sidewalk in a j'cllow flannel sur- 
plice merely makes himself ridiculous, and they gaze 
upon him with profound soberness. If they have mon- 
ey to spend in sugar- plums, the sugar-plums are safely 
wrapped in brown paper bags, and bestowed in their 
overcoat pockets for the delectation of their own little 
folks, not for grown-up strangers. Tournament trow- 
sers trimmed with tinsel lace look wonderfully incon- 
gruous over stout Yankee leather boots; and our famil- 
iarity with circus-viders and outriders makes the haber- 
dashery of knighthood show marvelously mean under 
the broad dajdight of the nineteenth century. 



162 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

Whatever amendment is made for our relief from 
work must be made in accordance with our constitu- 
tion, national and social. Americans must go forward, 
and not backward. They can never become children 
again. They are not to be raised by greased poles. 
They are to find entertainment in society, not in sports. 
Relaxation is to work itself more and more thoroughly 
and benclicently into every day, not concentrate itself 
into senseless revels on set days. AVith increase of 
wisdom, occupation will more nicely adjust itself to 
capacity and taste, so that a man's business will be 
fruitful of pleasure. Every day will settle its own bills, 
and leave no overplus of weariness to be offset by to- 
morrow's enforced rest or prescribed merry-making. 
Our holidays will then be still more than tlRy now arc 
holy days — days of great memories and great sugges- 
tions, of family reunion, of national congratulation, of 
profound and manly thanksgiving. 

Meanwhile our merry-making, our pleasure-taking, is 
neither unfrcquent nor lugubrious. Life is varied, the 
hours go swiftly, and work is warm with interest. 

In the country, where every sound must give an 
account of itself, the early stillness of summer morn- 
ings is sometimes broken by a protracted clatter. The 
noise assaults your ears long before it makes any im- 
pression on your soul, buried in sleep. You become 
slowly aware that it is not a steady, level ado, but a 
rattling that swells and sinks and swells again in a 
series of disturbing culminations; and presently you 
comprehend that a jn-ocession of some sort is going by, 
and vou are wide awake in an instant. Processions are 



HOLIDAYS. 103 

not so common in the country that tlicy can bo sufTcred 
to bide their light under a bushel. The household is 
suddenly set astir — every -window -blind opened Air 
enough for curious eyes to peer out, and for the bright, 
fresh, dewy morning to peer in. The barefoot milk-boy 
is slowly sauntering by, his newly scoured tin pail re- 
splendent in the sunshine, and his wide eyes fixed on 
the clatter, just rounding the knoll beneath the elms: 
one, two, three, four pairs of horses, as different from the 
sober steeds in yonder pasture as silk from stuff — gay, 
high -stepping horses, that look as if the map of the 
world had been wrapped around them for skin, the con- 
tinents tinted roan, the seas in white; and behind them 
long two -story wagons, like boxes on wheels, gayly 
painted, fast closed. But we know it is the circus, and 
that those gorgeously colored boxes inclose a howling 
chaos of bears and tigers, and that somewhere along the 
road, at some auspicious hour, some happy person will 
sec the elephant; but we must content ourselves for 
the present with the pretty little pony, and the grand 
chariot which contains such members of the "troupe" 
as are not driving the horses or stretched prone, dead 
asleep, on the tops of the howling boxes. A very sleepy 
circus it always is at this time of the morning; but it 
sets the whole village wild with enthusiasm. 

Then the handbills come and add fuel to the flame. 
The county paper takes up the parable, and flares out 
with chariots and horsemen — and horsewomen too — in 
every attitude of danger and daring, and the odds are 
you go. If you have children, you say it is to please 
the children. If you have none, you say it is to see the 



IGl; TWKLVh' M//.J:s F/i'OM A Lh'MOX. 

ci'owil. lUit it is not. It is to see the circus. You feci 
;i little sbamefiiccd to inavch up on the village green 
and buy a ticket of the man who has made an ollice of 
the rear of his watron, but you do it. Jlosts of minor 
tents Iku'c colonized in the vicinity of the mammoth 
tent, and on theii- canvas sides picture to you in vivid 
colors and Haunting capitals the attractions of the Two 
Interesting Idiots from Australia, Kemarkable ])ouble- 
lleaded (firl — Js She One, or Is She Two? The (Cal- 
culating rig, or The Giantess of the Jlebrides. ]>ut 
you shun side issues and plunge at once into the lions' 
den and take heart. Vov no loud advertisement nor 
monstrosity of di'awing can conceal the lieree magnifi- 
cence of a lion, the treacherous softness of a })anthcr, 
the graceful beauty of the leopard. They circle their 
impatient ]'ound — the iVee, wikl, fettered souls — anil 
bring into this mean arena the granileur of Numidiau 
wildernes.'^es. l>el'ore lliem the keepei's ^valk back anil 
forth in dingy scarlet coats, reciting to their ever-shift- 
ing audiences choice bits of natural history with an im- 
passive face and a monoliMions \o\cc. that make the 
growling and roaring of the other beasts seem orator- 
ical and intelligent. Here is the huge white polar bear, 
draggling his long hair on the tlooi-, and jointing with 
heat, in spite of the four hundred })ounds of ice where- 
with he is daily blockaded, and the hogsheads of water 
that keep him constantly wet. Alas! the ice-chest and 
the shower-bath {u-c but a sorry tepid substitute for the 
arctic floe that his hot blood leaps and longs for. Here 
is the prowling hyena — that ghoul among beasts, that 
horror of ingenuous youth, till the same tender hand 



JIOLIDA YS. 165 

which turned Henry VIII. into a fond liusband, and 
Judas Iscariot into a too zealous loyalist, touched the 
hyena too, and whitewashed hini into a roving sanitary 
commission prosecuting its good work by moonlight. 
Here in the middle of the tent lie the camels, mild and 
ugly; and immediately the white sands of the desert 
stretch around us, and the damsel Eebekah, lithe and 
blithe and very fair to look upon, stands once more 
by the well of Nahor at the even-tide, and down from 
Gilcad comes a cavalcade of Midian merchants, bear- 
ing spicery and balm and myrrh. "Slow coaching," 
young America would say; but when Ahasuerus sent 
out all swiftly a decree to revoke the bloody edict of 
llaman, "hastened and pressed" by the love and the 
terror of his young Jewish queen— Esther the beautiful, 
and brave as beautiful, and wise as brave — the camels 
and young dromedaries held their heads high among 
his post-horses. Was it three thousand of such sturdy 
cattle as these that Job's stables held? Kound such 
tawny, homely necks did Zebah and Zalmunna hang 
their golden ornaments? And if, as my lord keeper 
affirms, it takes one hundred and fifty pounds of meat 
every day to feed a baker's dozen of lions and tigers, on 
what enemy's country could Job have foraged to keep 
his stalls from famine, even if his mews were as pious- 
ly inclined as our nineteenth century beasts, who have 
unanimously agreed to keep the Sabbath-day by an 
unbroken fast? No feeding in this circus on Sunday! 
Let the compilers of our Sabbath manuals take notice. 
Whether it is for the health of their bodies or the sub- 
jugation of their souls doth not appear; but it would 



166 TWELVB MILES FROM A LEMON. 

seem as if Sunday must be a rather long day to them, 
with not even the solace of a curious stick to stir up 
their sides and their solitude. 

And here is that mountain of animated nature, the 
elephant. Is he an elephant? Is he not a mass of 
baked mud that lived once among the megatheriums 
and ichthyosauruses, when life was big and slow and 
pokey, and has come down to us by mistake, as one 
born out of due time? Certainly he seems here very 
much out of time and place. He is so utterly unbeauti- 
ful ! and he appears to know it, poor fellow, and looks 
meek and deprecating out of those small, sidewise, mod- 
est eyes of his. What straight, ungraceful legs! what 
a short, useless neck! what an unwieldy head! And 
why will they make him dance, when dignity is his 
only role? And what does an elephant think of being 
made to climb up and stand on a tub just large enough 
to give room to his four feet — if an elephant can be said 
to have feet — where the appearance is that his legs have 
simply come to an end? 

Before you have had time enough to see the baby 
elephant, who is but half as homely as the other, be- 
cause only half as big ; or the baby lion, who is as fierce 
at heart as his jungle-born papa; or the ostrich, who 
"can carry a full-sized man on his back, and run nine 
miles an hour," says the exhibitor in his measured 
monotone; or the quills upon the fretful porcupine; 
or the always funny monkey ; you must go in to see 
the " performance," which does not, perhaps, rank among 
the high arts, but which is often a good deal higher than 
is quite comfortable to look at. It is harder to defy law 



HOLIDAYS. 167 

than to organize law. Nature established gravitation ; 
but she must establish something. If a stone does not 
go down when it is dropped, it must go somewhere. 
But having made a point of putting people down, Na- 
ture must feel astonished to see those circus-riders stay 
up. The broad-saddle riding is not so incomprehensi- 
ble. Any body could ride standing on a soft saddle as 
big and flat as a "table, and perhaps make shift to jump 
through a hoop in the air, since the horse, though gal- 
loping, gallops slowly withal. But when it comes to 
riding without any saddle at all, and riding two horses 
at a time, and standing straight up on them both, and 
a woman standing straight up on you, and all sweeping 
around together in a dizzy whirligig — why, you can 
not do it. 

And here they live and grow together for years and 
years — little lions and leopards, and little men and 
women — in a world of their own ; and you know, per- 
haps, as much about the one as about the other. 

As for the ocean, there is a great deal to be said on 
both sides, in the way of merry-making. 

It is sultry and oppressive at home, and in your ears 
is a low roar which common folks call the sound of the 
sea, but which you, better instructed in sea-lore by a 
sea-faring ancestry, know to be the moaning of the 
wicked one doomed to construct a rope of sand. Sand 
enough he can easily gather, and fashion for his rope, 
but when he fain would twist it, the treacherous sand 
falls perpetually apart, and bis labors have no end. 
Who wonders the unhappy wretch mourns over his 
hopeless task? From our fair hill-top the long, level 



168 TWEL VE MILES FJiOJI A LEMOX. 

line of the sea stretches blue and far, wbite-specked 
with sails, white-bordered with the shining beach. The 
long line of blue, the low roar, the brisk breeze blow- 
ing already through imagination — all lure lis seaward, 
and with us 

"As the rules require 
Two towels and a spoon," 

and a hamper or two of hard bread, and a few dozen 
eggs, and sweet-corn, and sugar-gingerbread, and other 
such provender, which is supposed to be salt-water- 
proof, for we will camp out. Let Newport have its 
thousands, and Long Branch its tens of thousands, 
mine be a cot beside the sea, and a Byronic mingling 
with the universe, and a tasting of the sweets of soli- 
tude. 

Oh! solitude, we no longer ask where are the charms 
that sages have seen in thy face. We only ask piteous- 
"[y where is thy face ? This beach, once so lovely-lonely, 
swarms with people. Far off the white sea-sand is alive 
with little black bugs creeping to and fro, amphibious, 
for they float in the fringe of the sea near at hand. Our 
romantic cot is overflowed with ephemeral picnickers, 
and every black crag is crested with humanity. You 
raiust boil your corn with a dozen pairs of eyes fastened 
upon you, and there is no such thing as drowning your- 
self, though you should wish it as much as Johnn}' Sands 
wished to save his wife, for a dozen round balls bobbing 
up and down on the waves about you, are the heads of 
strong swimmers who would be sure to dive and wrench 
you out by the hair of your head, if it would stay on. 
And what a disheveled, dripping, forlorn set are the 



HOLIDAYS. 169 

batliers coming up out of the sea. Oh ! my lovely la- 
dies, you will be stylish or nothing, and you talk dain- 
tily of scallops and trimmings, and you fashion bath- 
ing-suits as featly as ball-dresses; but the saucy sea 
mocks all our finery, and tosses up against our scarlet 
splendor as undevoutly as over the old tow-gown and 
horse-blanket frock of our uncaring neighbor. But in 
we go, with a leap and a bound to begin with, and come 
near tumbling head first into Madrid, from not count- 
ing on the resistance of the water. Ugh ! how cold 
it is ! and how indefatigable ! and irresistible ! In the 
twinkling of an eye all the conceit is thwacked out of 
you. The sea will stand no nonsense. It beats you 
about, it knocks you down. It takes your breath away. 
It streams into your ears. It pours into your mouth. 
It rushes up your nose. You are drowned and dead. 
Who would have thought it was so savage and so salt? 
You try to swim, and down you go plump to the coral 
grove and the mermaidens, and up you scramble again 
— and strong arms pull you one way, and the strong 
sea thrashes you another way, and every body is scream- 
ing all the while at the top of his voice for pure excite- 
ment. You leap, and it buoys you up — you walk, and 
it flings you down. You yield to it, and it hurls you 
shoreward with a wild spray-tossing. You rush against 
it, and it smites you merrily and cheerily, but with the 
force of a sledge-hammer. 

So you come out all dripping, and drowned, and for- 
lorn. Not a bit of it. Every nerve tingles with ex- 
hilaration. Every drop of blood is warm and alert. If 
any body wants a serpent strangled, or a world carried, 



170 TWELVE MILES FEOM A LEMON. 

here is an arm of Hercules, and here is a shoulder of 
Atlas. But oh! the salt in your hair! And oh! the 
amount of water that flannel will absorb! And that is 
why you do not mind how many rows of trimming 
your bathing-dress has, or whether it is made of linsey- 
woolsey or moire antique. Yon ocean is a great wild 
beast, that rends you and tosses you without a particle 
of respect for your coat of many colors, and in its re- 
morseless clutch you think no more of your wardrobe 
than did Livingstone in the lion's mouth. And when 
you come out, never Solomon in all his glory was array- 
ed like one of you, no matter how you went in. You 
can not get out at all till you are wrung out, and you 
never can be wrung out so dry that rivulets of water 
do not trickle down at every step; and all your hair 
droops round your glowing face like sea-weed round a 
— boiled lobster — if one may quote poetry with varia- 
tions — for the truth's sake — and all grace is sopped out 
of your folds, and all beauty soaked out of your but- 
tons, and you walk homeward flapping as you go, and 
firm in the faith that you might as well take the surf in 
a coffee-bag as in purple and fine linen. 

Who dare say that women are the slaves of fiishion 
and show? Go to, now! To Hampton Beach, for in- 
stance, and see what " objects" they are willing to make 
of themselves before angels and men for the sake of a 
little wild fun, a little pure, wholesome, self-forgetful ex- 
citement. 

And when 3^ou are once more clothed and in your 
right mind, and staring like stern Cortes, silent upon a 
peak in Darien, at the great ocean lying still and ma- 



HOLIDAYS. 171 

jestic below you, can yoa believe it is the same ocean 
that played such mad pranks yonder? Beautiful and 
bitter sea, august and solemn sea, I know you ! Eoll 
on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll ; I have rolled 
with you, and, for all your stately stoppings, you can be 
as frisky as a colt. Unfold your purple grandeur to 
the dazed beholder, be the highway of commerce, the 
divider of nations, the great untamed power of the 
world. A little cord no bigger than my finger has an- 
nihilated you, and as a beverage you are more than 
disagreeable ! 

One day rises head and shoulders above its brethren, 
the holiday of the year, one to be remembered and per- 
petuated. 

We are loyal citizens in Applethorpe, and we always 
"celebrate," either at home or abroad. Indeed, our 
patriotism is of that irrepressible kind which the four- 
and-twenty hours of Independence Day can not hold, 
but it bubbles up and boils over into the preceding 
evening. There is a warning spurt and sputter of 
Chinese crackers about the stoop of the "cheap cash 
store," and through the dewy darkness come mingled 
voices in shout and laughter, and mingled odors of pow- 
der and brimstone. But we are not in the full tide of 
our successful career till midnight. When the clock 
strikes twelve, the Abbot of Misrule enters in and takes 
possession ; " the boys " begin their work. The stately 
church-bell starts up astonished, and clangs out strange 
greeting to the hills; and the hills, astonished, make 
answer with the one rusty-throated cannon that has 
been dragged up the highest hill of all. The villagers 



172 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

Stir uneasily in their beds, with dim, momentary dreams 
of fire and danger, fading gradually into a confused con- 
sciousness of " the Fourth." Ding, ding, ding, goes the 
bell, heavily and sullenly booms the cannon at irregu- 
lar intervals, and every body is perforce wide-awake. 
The din is dolorous to those who live under the drop- 
pings of the sanctuary — ear-splitting, brain-wearying, 
rest-destroying ; but to me, far off, it comes no din, but 
a soft, clear, musical melody, cleaving the silence, the 
darkness, the heavy fragrance with a sweetness all its 
own. Ring away, my brave boys ! The minister, the 
lawyer, the doctor, the captain, the grocer, are mutter- 
ing harsh things of you, but I only thank you for the 
tuneful voice. It is so pleasant to be awake, alive, in 
the boundlessness of night. The solitude is utterly sat- 
isfying. There is neither near nor far, but the whole 
universe stretches around you, the one being in infinite 
space; and the repose is divine. Ding, ding, ding! — a 
fresh hand is on the bell-rope, and the melody that was 
faint and feeble rolls out again full and pealing. The 
vibrlmt voice rings royally through the night; the 
cloud of sleep that was settling over the tired popula- 
tion is instantly dispelled; and again the butcher, the 
baker, the candlestick-maker, have nothing pretty to say ; 
but I know the little flower-hearts are beating breath- 
lessly, and all the dew-drops tremble with delight. The 
prairie-rose leans over in its glory, and whispers to the 
honeysuckle, and the honeysuckle croons back softly to 
the rose, pouring forth fragrance as lavishly as if hum- 
ming-birds and honey-bees had not fed on its sweetness 
all day long. And, spite of the joy, I can not keep 



HOLIBAYS. 173 

awake. Vain the sweet-toned bell and the delaying 
perfume. Through the ivory gate my soul wanders, 
wavers, and is lost. 

Snap, snap, snap ! the light-infantry approaches, arm- 
ed and equipped with fire-crackers, as the law of boy- 
dom directs. They are making a raid through the vil- 
lage, charging upon the inoffensive inhabitants, and 
driving away every chance of sleep with their talking 
and laughing, and the uproar of the pert little crackers. 
Then there is a lull, a murmur of low talk, and sud- 
denly an explosion extraordinary — a sudden burst of 
packs of crackers, torpedoes, squibs, and all things that 
whiz and fizz and hiss and bang — then a boyish shout 
and yell, and the talk and laughter dying into silence. 
So between sleeping and waking the short night speeds 
on, and before the boys are tired the birds take up the 
celebration, and trill out from a thousand throats the 
heroism of our forefathers. The bell gives way to these 
new re-enforcements; the hot-lipped rheumatic gun is 
glad to rest its old bones; the sun comes up inquiring- 
ly from behind the hills, wondering what all the fuss is 
about; and the Fourth of July is fairly set agoing. 

The day is clear and hot, such a day as belongs to 
the Fourth. We are early astir, for our little Celtic 
handmaid has great expectations to-day. She is a late 
comer from Green Erin — a healthy, ruddy girl, with a 
voice like the north wind, and an arm like the oak that 
defies it. Her honest face is continually breaking into 
sunshine beneath the great cloud of glossy dark hair 
above. I am not yet tired of watching her as she goes 
about the house with strong and sturdy tread, so igno- 



17-i TWKLVJ': 2IILKS FliOM A LEMOX. 

rant of fiitiguc, so unacquainted witli weakness. The 
greenness and vigor of her native ishind linger still 
around her. All alone, scarcely sixteen, she came to 
this strange, vast land, and dropj)ed at once into her ap- 
j>ointed })lace as featly as a marble into its socket on a, 
solitaire board. There is something I do not under- 
stand about these Irish. Hardly able to read, seldom 
to write, not over-intelligent, they manage somehow to 
shoot straight to the mark. ^Vhen wo travel, we bring 
lieaven and earth into recpiisition. Every thing is })rc- 
aiTanged. Letters lly back and forth, selecting routes 
and hotels. The telegra})h is brt)ught into j^lay, and 
relays are set all along the road to keej) us in the way 
wc should go; and, after all, we miss the early train, we 
stop at the wrong place, and reach our journey's end 
with the best trunk missing. 

But my Irish friend Ilonora takes it into her head to 
send for "little Margery," and forthwith comes to me. 
I dispatch the letter, forming the address according to 
llonora's raj)id tt)nguc, revised and corrected by Col- 
ton's Afaps. That it will ever strike home, directed in 
that wild way, seems to me very doubtful ; but IFtuiora 
harbt)rs no doubt. "I shall get my answer back the 
fust of March," says Ilonora, in the full assurance of 
Jaith, though to my certain knowledge she is innocent 
of mathematics, geograjdiy, and the use of the globes. 
Yet, sure as the sun in the heavens, the llrst of March 
brings her letter. "Will yon reail it? I know she will 
not mind, and to me it is a pleasant insight into another 
world. 



HOLIDAYS. 175 

"Dear IIonora, — I foci most happy to liuvc nn oc- 
casion of answering your welcomed letter, wliicli I have 
just received after your long silence, for I was under 
the impression that I would never hear from yon ; but 
it's an old proverb, ' Better late than never.' 

"IIonora, I am a poor old man, after rearing a long 
family, and now I have neither son nor daughter to pro- 
vide for mc in my old ago, but 1 have new life in mc 
since I have heard from you. 

"Little Margery is quite a young woman, and is very 
proud that you are going to fetch her out to the United 
States; you will make it your business to pay her pas- 
sage at your earliest convenience from Cork in a steam- 
boat. I am rather shy to request of you to send a 
pound or two to her for to buy a little clothes. Dennis 
went from here on the 1st of January, and, of course, 
he left my hand empty, which going has caused me 
great uneasiness and discontent. Your poor mother is 
very lonely after Dennis, and after ye all. I trust you 
will not be so slow in the future in writing, for it gives 
me great pleasure when I receive your letters. We 
are all very proud to know that Elfreda is married and 
well; for Klfreda was a good daughter to me, and I 
trust she will remember me yet. Dennis will go to 
Boston, and you will make it your business to inquire 
for him; and if you meet him tell him to write imme- 
diately, and you also will answer this as quick as ])0S- 
sible. All the friends around here are well. Your 
mother and I join in sending you and Elfreda and 
husband our thousand blessings, and God may pros- 
per ye all. Patrick has a large family and is well. Be 



17G TWELVE MILKS FROM A LEMON. 

pleased to send Michael a newspaper. Write iinine- 
diately. 

" Your })Oor mother is oveijoved to hoar from ye all. 
Good-bye. 1 remain your alVeetiouate father, 

" Michael O'Mokuity." 

ILoiiora ilings out another letter, with the money so 
shyly asked, and the winds take it, and bear it to the 
little eottage aeross the sea, and out from the little cot- 
tage trips little Mai-gery smiling over the ocean, fearing 
nothing. Safely the trusty ship sets her down in Bos- 
ton — Boston, where you and I should lose way and 
heart t\venty times in the tangle of streets and alleys; 
but Margery somehow thrids them all, and walks into 
our apple-orchards promptly with the May blossoms, 
as fresh and blooming as thc3^ As I look into her ig- 
norant young face, I can only sa)', lie givclh his angels 
charge concerning thee, to keoj) thee in all thy wa3'S. 
But 1 can not help regretting that the good angels, 
while they were about it, could not also find it within 
their province to take charge of the "little clothes" so 
painfully gained, but left them to be stolen by some 
miscreant at Newfoundland, the "little clothes," and the 
pair of stout liish blankets which the fond old father 
sent to his good daughter J^jllVcda, and which she mourn- 
fully and truly aflirms would have lasted her all her life. 
Cold comfort be found within their foUls by the wretch 
who stole them, and, like young llan-y (« ill's, evermore 
may his teeth chatter, 

" Cliattcr, cliiilter, cliattor still !" 

But there is no thought of blankets now. Speedily 



in)i.ii).\ vs. 177 

iiiiislics MiirgtM'y lior iiioniiiig work, ni'i-ays lici'scll', well 
pleased, in her iicw-couiitry outlit., (asliioiis :i i\\\\y Cc;!- 
tic water-fall (Vein her l)rij:,liL blaek liair, uiul joins llio 
group ofslalwart cousins and (loiisincsses wlio arc going 
to Boston to "celebrate." it tires me to tiiink of what 
she will do and be and suH'er with unfeigned di>light to- 
day — the tight new dress, the long, hurried walk to the 
railroad station, the crowdetl ride, the din and dust and 
furnacedieat of the city — but her face is aliglit with 
liap{)y anticii)utions, and I at least enjoy her joy. (uxl 
speed your merry-making, Margaret! 

Now wo close the south blinds and windows, shutting 
out the burning, remorseless sun, shutting in the cool, 
scented morning air, and loiter on the shady stoop, find- 
ing it of all tilings sweetest Jo do nothing. I hear the 
clatter of a mowing-machine in the meadow below, and ^M 
from the sloi)e above comes the rhythm of the swinging J^^| 
scythe, for so our hay-makers kce]) liorKhiy. ^i'he birds wKr 
are mostly ({uiet, but occasionally (Vom the orchard 
comes n (puck "^J\vhitr' and from the swamj) a sono- 
rous " Caw ! caw !'' ^riie busy, saucy, ovei'gi'own j'ol)ins 
arc hopping over the new-mown hay, the swallows 
swoop down almost into our vei'y l;u!es, and the whirr 
of the humming-bird brings me on tiptoe to catch one 
glance at the mist of his gossamer wings and his Hash- 
ing s})lendor among the vines. Now and then the 
mowers come into view, curving the; shcll-woi'k of th(;ir 
broad swaths with an easy, graceful sweej) that nndces 
mowing seem no toil, but a fine art — a pleasurable mu- 
sical motion. 

"Going to be a good hay-day, Aleck?" says my 



178 t\vi:lv£ miles fiu)m a lijmox 

neighbor, the Pros'ulont, sauntering over, and loaning 
his foldeil arms on the fenee. 

'* Well there 'tis," says Aleck, introducing a rest into 
tlic music. "The weather's well enough. It's the 
wind. If the wind gets round to the south, we shall 
have rain. Kit don't, wc sha'u't." 

"A handsome piece of grass, if you get it in without 
rain." 

"Can't tell much about the weather. George'' (to 
the boy, whose scythe rattles rather suspiciously), " I 
wouldn't cut those stones in two, if I'se you." 

^^ Quadnipedante putrem soni/d quatit ungula campum.^^ 
Trots smartly by a procession — three or four gay horses, 
each horse with a shining covered buggy, each buggy 
with a shining, tiini young man all alone. l>ut they 
will not long be aU>ne. 1 know the look of them. It 
is Frederic, it is John, it is Albert — spruce young farm- 
ers dressed in their Sunikiy best. They have been skim- 
ming the cream t>f the teams all the vilhige round, and 
now they itre going for their "girls;" and a jolly d;iy 
they will have oi^ it, and a safe liome-eoniing let us pray, 
for they will never think to do it for themselves: be- 
sides, there is a tradition hereabouts that if a young man 
and maiden are upset in their drives their mai'riage is 
certain ; and 1 half suspect the rogues plot to knock olV 
a wheel or sidle down a bank with the design of mak- 
ing their election sure. K(.>w the railroad train roars 
over the causeway, through the peat-field, now it hushes 
into silence behind the hill, now it whistles out upon 
the plain, and makes its noisy hall at the village station. 
It will do a large business for us tonlay. ^'oung people 



inn, II) I »,', 



\i\) 



will iii;;li (iiiiii llic (iM liniiiM l.n Uki cil.ir;!, ji ikI yi iilii,L'i;(li 
|ic(i|i|c will Unci. IViiiii iJic <'ilji';i In IIm- i>M liMiiii' liiriiiM. 
h';ir (iir llii'if (•<iiiiiii;miIiiii('!!. 'I'licy nni Iniiii.iii;'^ ii|) l.lic 
lull, 'riicy f'liiiiiiii'r iiiiMiii" iJic l.rci';',. 'I'ln'ir clinllcr 
ll())ll,H bcruic. I I. MOW llii'iii ;ill, vvli;il. rdiiirnil, liny (•.•ir 
ry, mill wlinl. wi'lcnnic iiw;iil;i iJn'in m li(iiin:i vvIhic, iiiicli 

liolidfiy.'l ;nv ilMlrrd ;ill Ihd few I Will IIm- IhIi' I",;-! i||) 

n liUJo M|ir;iy l.n ii;'.7 Alil liric iJicy (•nine, liy l.vviiM ninl 

|,1||'()(!H; W(1 hIuiJI liol, lo;;)! our Jilmin <\\' i<\ri-U\\y^ ;ilii| piiod 

cJkuU'. " llni'()'n l.lii'iM) oC IIM. Ill ;i. row willi on |iniil,;!," 
ciiJIm l.ln^ ( iovt'i'iior, nlriilJ.iii;' ii|» iil;il,i-lil y l,o iiliow liiit 
Wv.'X " ;iiiil. oj' |)iuil,.'i," ii;i III' i';ill:i I linn; ;iiii| niiilyri, I'.iil,- 
liTiHil;!, morn nliy, IhiI, ciiicilly r|;ilr, l)iin;':i ii|i IIm', rciir, 
.•iiid will: jii'iM iioriJy, "I'vi; I'oi, on |i;iiilJi," ;i,iid iilicl.M l.o 
\\\r, word Jilt cloM.nly ii;i ifii, vvi'ic iiL'indiud Kii;-'ji:Ji. 'I'lin 
new coiihiiilCH imVfi lo Im- rrinnicd, di;',('li;i!l(M|, ;nid ;i,d 
niil'Cll; II, lc;i,r i;i ll,ILi-|n|i|id In In- dln|i|fd nvrr llir, |;i(| 

\H)\v.\\ iJiiii! lio|)rl('i',;ily t,i!i,ii,",roniM'd iiit.o IVo;.';!, ii''vvii iind 
iioiiMciiHd Jit'o l.ridcd oviT, Mild llici'ii i;i nil cyn l.o \m \n'\)\, 
on llin W(!i) hoyH, wlio lifivn iml. |iiil, on iJin | ii;ir|,i('c, willi 
iJin U'owHcrH oCdiric.i'cljoii, luid iiic. I'.oiil.iiiiuilly diiiii|)|)C!ir 
in;-'; round coi'iinrn, mid |iol.iiil.i;illy r;i,lliii;/ inl.o w<'ll;i niid 
ninniii;'; (i;.'^;iin;'.l, r.ry l.lii'.'i. I ndccd jlicy vvill lir;ir wiil.'di- 
iii;.';, lor tlm (lovnnnr ji.i;! ;i, w;iy, :.l,i;in;','l,y <li.-!i;-',l'i'<'-Jil)ln 
l.o liiol.lici'M, of cliiiiliiii;'^ lioirir l,n|ri and I'.iM.iiiL^ Iii'.l,ridi5 
rid^o |)o|c;i ; mid l'iill.i'iiiiil:i licloiiy.i l,o ;i, Hmnly wlio;tM 
Uui-yciif old hoyii iinvi', luin l.nowii lo (•|iii'< |c, ;i rope, 
wliiln l.iicir ci.'-dil, mid lin yi;ir old l.inlli< r .-md I'.iiil.i!!' 
i.lood Jil, iJic, iillic, window, mnl drew iImim \\\< lioin llm 
f.!;i'oiind inlo llic ^oirrnl.. I r.lniddi r now lo i.liink ol'il., 
mid Hfiy !i;',;iiii, " Tlirir mi;-'/:!;!, I.licir mi;vl:'. do id Wfiyii litj- 
hold III'- r;irc of our l'';illi('r vvlii<'li i;'. m Ih'mvu." 



180 T\VI<:iA'K MILKS FROM A IJCMON. 

r>iiL llui tiny slr;i.i!,\L!,UM's :>.ro [:;;itli(M'iHl in, the <^r()nj)S 
reform, ilio tiilc; ivchmIcs, bul K>;iv('s us not inipovoi'isli- 
C(l. b'nij^i'unt ral-sicUnl siniwbcrrios, grciit bold Ama- 
zons ol' cherries, smothered in j^rcHm leaves, arc its j)al- 
j)able liiu;h-\vnler marks; and while we are gathering 
U|) these spoils of time and title, my neighbor, tlu^ Sec- 
retary, bids mc ;i i)ea-pieking into his garden. Not to- 
day, tliough pens arc sweet and Juiey an<l tender, and 
it is pleasant piekiiig among his gi-ape-vines and his 
rose-bushes, his luunloeks and larches; but there? will 
bo no dinner cookt'd and no [\vc kindle(l in this house 
to-day. Ambrosia and nectar, manna and (puiils, bread 
and milk, butter and lioney — this is our ()lym[)ian fare 
for the Fourth. So llu^ peas may sit unmolested in 
their pods, and mcilitale afier the fashion of Hans Aii- 
der.sen's, who, observing that themselves were green and 
the shell was' green, thought, therefore, the whole woi-ld 
was green; in which opinion good Hans admits they 
were about right. 

]^ut the train that bi'ought our IVicnds bi'ouglit also 
our mail; and we will run over to the ])()st-oiliee and 
])ut ourselves in communication with the univei'se, droj)- 
j)ing in on the way at my lu'ighbor's barn to sec the 
new colt - a shivering little day-old i-rc^ilure, the tiiiii>st 
morsel of a lioi'se possible, but a two-thousand-ck)llar 
beast, and thenifon? claiming respect, though I must 
confi'ss my nnsophislit'att! eyi'S fail to del(>ct \]\o jioiuts 
which make him worth well-nigh his weight in gold. 
Four long crooked sticks of legs, ami a bit of moust;- 
colored body — that is all I see for your two thousantl 
dollars. 



HOLIDAYS. 181 

^riio Post-office is fur bettor woilli wliiks. The Post- 
office is u blessed iiistituti(jii in the countiy. It is so- 
ciety where none iutriules. Letters are the creuia of 
social iiitereoui'se. Ju them you taste tiie wit and wis- 
dom, the thought and feeling, of living pei'sons, with- 
out the cmbarj'assments of personal presence. It is con- 
versation at arms-length — these letters whose dear, fa- 
miliar handwriting is like light to my eyes — letters that 
bless me with their magnetic touch, even while I hold 
them in my hand unopened. The daily paper brings 
the world's history down to date, and sometimes antici- 
pates it. By an electric mystery you hear what has 
happened long before it liappens, and even when it 
never happened at all. The continents report prog- 
ress to me every morning, though I n(iver stir from 
beneath my own vine and fig-tree. 1 know ])recisely 
what the Queen wore yesterday. Livingstone is cir- 
cumstantially and definitively killed on the first page 
of the morning journal, and brought to life and letters 
again on the third. The tear forgot as soon as shed 
was but the slow-coaching <jf the forefathers. Our tear 
is stopped half-way out, and perhaj)S will never be shed 
at all. 

And then old Puss purrs and wins me out to see her 
sleeping beauty, her week-old kitten ; and while I am 
out 1 may as well look into the garden, to see what the 
sun is doing for my one China-aster and my five sweet- 
peas; for, alas! my seeds refused to come up, and my 
weeds refused to stay down, and so my garden is a 
howling wilderness — when I am in it. And then come 
the nectar and ambrosia, and — must it be conl'essed? — 



182 TWKl.VK MILES FJWM A Lh'MOX. 

a hot diunor ai'icr all, soul in hy thoso iVitMuUy country 
neighbors — but noctirr :uiil anibi'osia too. And thou 
drowsiness and dreams, stillness of noon and afternoon 
— then a little of 'IMiaekeray ami a little of Herder, and 
then a low, muttering j>eal like thunder, and we start 
up to lind the heavens overcast. The bright day is 
utterly gone. The west is lurid and angry. The sky 
hangs low and sullen. A livid, leaden look is on the 
frightened earth. The silence is portentous. We hasten 
to make fast every door and blind and sash, and the 
tempest bursts upon us — rage of wind and roar of rain, 
the lightning's incessant Hash and tlu> thunder's awful 
reverberations. The unmown grass lies prostrate be- 
fore the fury of the storm. The rounded hay -cocks are 
torn apart, and tossed over the lield in wiKl confusion, 
'i'he tall trees bend and writhe and moan. The house 
trembles. The water-spouts shriek. There is a snap- 
jting, a ei'aekling, a crashing; one tree and aiuMlier and 
another are torn up by the roots, and dragged remorse- 
lessly through the orchard, or tlroj^ped heavily and 
helplessly out of the track oi' the tornado. And sud- 
denly as it came the frenzy of the storm is gone. The 
cloud still hangs over us, but the wind has died away. 
The rain falls softly. The lightnings (]o not rive the 
whole sky, but only 0}ien a portal of heaven in the 
horizon, and I think more complacently of the dilapi- 
dated state of our lightning-rods. The great storm last 
winter twisted olV one at the roof, and after several se- 
vere thunder-showers this summer, the other was dis- 
covered to have broken near the ground. The black- 
smith mended this, but that was not to be so lightly 
healed. The holder o? {ho \\\[cut CcMild not be fouml, 



JIOLWA YS. 183 

but the owner of a rival patent said he would put up a 
better set — these were nothing and worse than nothing, 
for they had never been safe. This was an ahirniing 
state of things, but a mathematical demonstration speed- 
ily restored my peace of mind. For, fii'st, the rods had 
never been safe. Secondly, during the six years tlujy 
had been up, the house had never been struck. Thiid- 
ly, one of the rods was gone, consequently they were 
only half as unsafe as they were before ; therefore the 
probability of our being struck during the next six 
years is reduced to one half of nothing. Q. E. D. 

The patentee did not seem to sec it, but there it is. 
If any body can find a flaw in the reasoning, let hiiu 
show it. 

Yet I am fain to confess tliis demonstration, lucid and 
satisfactory as it is, to be more comfortable under a 
clear sky than a clouded one. When the west begins 
to scowl, I begin to distrust my ciphering, and would 
give up a mathematical certainty any time for a good 
set of lightning-rods. Not so my neighbor, " Yom 
may stick up as many prongs as you like," she says 
energetically to her husband, who is dallying with tiio 
agent that peddles them, "but I sliall go over to Aunt 
Ruth's and sit, every time there is a thunder-storm, if 
you do!" 

The rain-drops grow fewer and fainter. The birds 
twitter out afresh. The flowers shake the big drops off, 
and begin to look about them. The air is heavy with 
numberless sweet odors — the newly distilled balm of a 
thousand flowers. A healthy evening red stains the 
softening sky. The village girls come loitering down 
the road; little maids arc chattering like mngpics, and 



184 TWKLVK JIlJ.h\S Fh'OM A Lh'MOX. 

little boys jKuUlling barefoot through the piuUlles. Two 
dainty clainsels stroll slowly ahead of the others. The 
sunset glow lights up the brown curls of one to softest 
gold, and lends a dazzling bloom to the ruddy cheeks 
of the other. 1 knt)vv them, good, honest, wholesome 
country-girls; but gliding along under the trees, their 
white gossamer garments lloating in the evening breeze, 
they look like angels just alighted — ah! this is what 
thov are wailing for, tlu-n ! What? Do you think I 
will ti>H? if to other eyes than mine they look like 
angels, anil if angels choose to keep ti'vst under our 
apple-trees, am 1 such a mai'plot that 1 will bhib it lo 
all the world? 

Tlie front gate clicks again — a troop of shining ones 
come lloating \\\) our steps, and more and)rosia, 1 sus- 
})ect, lies hidden under that napkin's snowy folds. Lift 
its fringed edges. Civamy chci^se, the clover and vio- 
lets of our own meadows; golden butliM-, that has hard- 
ly yet forgotten to bo buttercups; light, white, tooth- 
some bread; blocks of rich sweetness, that the vulgar 
call cake; triangles of lemon and sugar and snow-ilakes, 
which school-boys know as pic — Ah ! these country 
neighbors are astir again, and thus their ]>aths drop fat- 
ness. 

Beloved and beautiful, my Applethorpe ! 1 know not 
if the stranger's eye linds in you any thing to be de- 
sired ; but 1 better love the rijijile of your quiet stream 
than all the mountain-waves of the sea. Pear to me is 
eveiy shadow of your woods, every swell of your hills, 
every ilim{>le of your dells. Your green lanes woo me 
through enchanted jdaees, and on your blue lakes rests 
the smile of TFeaven. 



QONFEUENUE WliOJ^U tillJE OUT. 185 



xr. 
CONFERENCE WHO NO SIDE OUT. 

TiiK iiiinislcr luid f^oiio to New Yc^i'k to marry liia 
sister, the lawyer was oW m\ eireiiil, the dcaeoii was laid 
up at horiu; with a sprained ankle, and the (Jcjnl'ereiiee 
was corning. What sIkjuM wc do? 

l)c// Why, thei'e was the eliureh to be tidied up, 
the vestiy to be cleaned, tables to be made and spread, 
eroekerywarc to bo bought, begged, bori'owed, and 
bi'oken, (bod to be cooked by the cargo, and collee and 
tea to be made by the barrel. I could n(;t get an aj)})lc 
gathered or a log split ioY a fortnight, because "I've 
got to work up 't the mcctin'-housc. You know Con- 
ference is comin'." Yes, all the autumn, Conference 
darkled vaguely in the horizon, and it was when Octo- 
ber shimmered brown and gold and glorious, and Con- 
ference bore down upon us under full sail, near and in- 
evitable, that the minister must needs go off a-marry- 
ing, the lawyer a-courting, and the deacon a-spraining 
liis ankle. So we laity were left to prepare the way 
for a Conference which was used to good eating, and 
which wc could not let starve on our hands without 
incurring perpetual disgrace. " Besides," said Confer- 
ence-goers among our brethren and sisters, "we have 
been to Conference and got great dinners, and wo will 
give them as good as they send." 



18(i TWIHAh: MILKS FROM A LKMOK 

It is :i praismvortJiy principle. Scaled be the lips 
that vvDiihl i^aiiisay it! 

So, as loreoixlaiiRul IVom the pn]j)it, wc gather to \\\c 
pivliminary iiieetiiii^' in the vestry, lor we are lulvocates 
o(" law and older. A\^e will Ikivc oi',i;aiii/ation and a 
moderator. JSo mob-rule loi- us. In the vestry tlie 
women are merry and many ; the men arc two, and 
forlorn. The wonien hold si>ats on the right, as is their 
wont; they are tired witii ambition, lilled with jilans 
and (Mithusiasni ; they talk in loud wdiisj)ers, confuse 
each oilier with cross remarks, ami look daggers over 
at the two lonesome, uidiap[)y men, who llalt^M- them- 
selves they are talking together, but really, with heails 
of lead, are only striving to pass away the time, and 
wishing that r>liieher or night Were come, and w^onder- 
ing what they shall i\o if neither l^liieher nor night a})- 
pears. 

"Come now," says a woman, energetically, "go and 
shut those two men up in the small vestry, and let us 
I)roeeed to business." 

]<\)r we iiw all woman's rights here, every mothei-'s 
pon of us, and knowing, dare maintain — that is, we take 
our rights without uxovc ado. We have just voted that 
we will \o[\i in chureh, anil as lor our husbands, wc 
order them around well when we feel like it, ami sub- 
mit to nothing but fate. Still, we do our bullying by 
our own hearthstones, ami sit in prayer-meeting as silent 
and meek as any subject race, to the annoyance of the 
free white males, who would like to have us take tho 
burden off their shoulders by "offering a few remarks" 
at the Teachers' Meeting or the Sunday-school Concert. 



aoNFiaiNNi'h: WItONO ,Sll)l<! OUT. I ,s7 

Dili, vv(i Wdii't. \V(; ])r('(i'r t.o .sil, sl,ill,;ui(l criLicisis iJicir 
I'cfii.'iikM nCl.ci' wc jM) lioiiic. 

I''iii;illy, .'IS tlio cowH ^radiuilly ^'((L iiiilkcMl, .'uid tlui 
horses shod, and ihc tulc, of hiiiiiaii sho(iS made- tip, l,h<5 
men drop in oik; l>y one; sonieliody pi-opos<!S a inoder- 
al.or, and wo arc I'airly a-^^oin^-;. i^low, as wc; are all 
" woman's I'ii^his," tliis woiihl seem to l)e tJie /fohhiii op- 
jtorl.iiiiit y l,o pul, tJiem in pracUco. 'I'hc; eiit,eil,;iiiimeiit, 
of Lhu ConCurcjiico is buL an cidarf.'jed hospitality, and we 
women must engineer it lliron^h. Moreover, th(! Lord 
lias taken away our thrco masters rroni our lie;id to-day, 
and what doth hinder that w(! should not he our own 
masters, and say what we want, and wliat w<! will have, 
and what we will do, without the intervention of tin; 
tyrant man ? 

WiiereCore, tin; chairman beiii^ cIios(mi, and the rna- 
cliincry ready to begin, we all sit with an <!xp(!etant 
look ill our eyes, ainl an embarrassed smile on our lips, 
ibr two minutes, 'i'hc men think they will ;j;ive th(' 
women a clianec, and kecsp still ; and the women think 
tlusy hav(! got their ehanee, and it (eels like a, very large 
el(!phant on their hands. I*i'(\seiitly we fall simiilta- 
iKioiisly to nudging each otluu- to speak. 

" W(; want a committee," whispcu's Mrs. A., Crom otic 
end oC the long scittee, to Mrs. P>., at the; other. 

"'IMien you g(!t up and say so," says Mrs. !>., s<'nten- 
tiously, which is not (;neouraging. 

After inuch skirmish in whispers, one of the men 
rises and comes ()V(!r to ns. Oh! wretch(!d reiKigadcH 
that wc are, disfranchis(;d and degraded the o.\ k'tiow- 
cth his owii(;r, and the ass his master's ciib. No sooiku' 



ISS 



rwh'i.y/': milks n^oM i /./■j.i/o.v. 



iloi>s lliis mni» \:\ko a soat. on «>ur s^MIco tlinii all tlu> sot- 
lot's how tlown and do ohrisaiu'i' as sorviK'lv as it* t.lu'v 
bolii'voJ llu' lioail of llio \vi>inau was tho man. W'l^ 
|Hnii\(.'o upon liim, wi' Iwisl. luirsolvcs nri>iiiul to l';u'(> 
Imii, wr siirioix at him in lion hi wliis|H'rs, iioiu' (il'wliu'li 
call he (listiiM^uish ; but ho inanai;i>s to strike u goiu>ral 
aviM'ai'.o, aiul I'isos to imn'o that a ooiiiiuitto(> b(> appoiiit- 
Ci\. Tho luolion is put aiul oanioil, aiul iiniiuHJiaU'lv a 
lively oauous onsuos o\\ tho sottoos as to tlu> ;ippoiiitoos, 

"Mrs. C\," says one. 

"Yes, slu' is hoaulil'iil : \i>u uoiniiiato iior." 

" No, you !"' with oxprossivi' jKuitouuiuio gosturo. 

'V\\o \\{\\c lady i'li>ars hor lhri»at, autl trios Id s:iy in 
stoutiuiau toMos, " Mrs. (\ ;'' but sho niisoaloulatt'S hor 
ibrco, and thoi\' is a. dooidoil oaso ol' i'ikc j'ttKri/nis /uvsif. 
'VUcu wo all gi-i-io. 

" Po soniobotlv noniiuato hor,"s:ivs tho bii^j^ost cow- 
ard ainoii;!; us. "(^ui'l you just, sav Mrs. .1.0.?" — ftS 
if it woiv as oasy as broathiui;-, sho horsoll" hayinijj noivr- 
ly sulVoo.atod iu tho attoui]>t, wluM\'at. haJi'a, diK'.ou voioos 
porpolralo auolhoi" atlaoiv on tho roxnl iiau\o ol'Mrs. (\ 
l>ul as o.aoh voioo is on a liitVorout ki'y, and as tlioy all 
bo^'iu with ;v whooy.o and iMid with :i whispor, and as 
wo iiav*' squattod iu tho larthost baok soals, whili> tlu> 
ohaii'UKUi is at tho othor cud uuilor iho puljut, tlu> iioui- 
iiuUious oouio lo his oar «Mily as a «<(M>tlo iuartioulato 
soughiui;'. Still, ho ovidoutly thinks soiuiMhinu; is going 
on, and staros stoadlustly and int|uiringly into iMir oiu-- 
nor, whilo wi> art* suuwhoiiii!'; with lau<>,litiM- ovor our 
prowi'ss, I'rosoutly owe of us takos hor lilo in lu'r 
hands, and .>':allioiin<'; up all hor siMd, hurls " Mrs. ,1. M, 



CdNli'iaU'lNCh] WIlONd ^llih: OUT. IHO 

(j." ;i,l, iJic iiio(|iT;it,or, in ;i v<>i':<; iiii;Mii;'^ f'loin di'iipcra- 
tioii, t,wi<-,i; ;iM IoikI ;i:i l,li<;i(; i.', any c.'ill (or, ;in<l l.licn 
look'H hack u|Kjii U'A wiUi an uir (jf trininpli, <;vi<J(;rit,ly 
t,liinl<ingHlio liaH iriadc a Hpcccli, and iJial it in tlj(j kjjcccIi 
of Ui<; evening. So w<; liii.cli ali>n».';, (^anviiHHing uh we 
go, and annoiJiK'Jng iJie ichuII, ol'eaeli canvuHH in u con- 
I'lJHcd and wubljlinj'; eliornn (>[' nqueaky, liunky voiceH, 
becaiiH(j Mobody v<;nl.iu<M to rpeuk aloiuj, and no two 
can agree to b(!gin at tluj Harn(; inntant, till the eominittee 
JH choHen, and we rent on our ar'rriH and f|ii<;iy what in 
to he done next. 

We do not tliinl: of any thing, but eliooHe iriore (J<;in- 
rnittec, wlntn Homchody brighter than the rent Htai'tH n|) 
tli(j impertinent queKtir;n, " VVh.at in thiH eomrnitte*; for 
that we have alieady ehonen ?" 

" Why c.^i-Ay thing," we nay b!anl:ly, loolring i'loni 
one to another. 

"To \)():-:.>, the job, "nay;-! the e,ar)»enter, who li;iii joined 
UM, not proCeHHionally, hr^wever. 

"To tante the thingn that are brought in, and ;;ee iC 
they aie f'ood," KM,yK the ehairtnan <>{' the eoinniittee ; hin 
eyeM dilate with foretaste of the Ceai-it. 

He.re it in HUggented on the Hlowly darkening "inen'H 
HJ<le" that /lo one haH ke[jt a lii.t of the name:',. The 
moderator propoHCH tbat a Hecretary be apjjointed. Oui- 
jnouth-pieee liaH- gallantly no doubt the ladie.-i will 
remember everything; Htill it may he adviwible to have 
tin; li.st written, and he will act an Heeretary if any one 
will lend him a jxincil. The moderal/jr |»rofrerH a \)i:u- 
eil, and Mouth-piece HteaJH a mareh upon uh by ad van- 
cin,'j to the (Vont. Hereupon a muFlled hhri<;l: of de- 



li)0 rwin.VF. MILL'S rh'OM .1 ij:m()\. 

spair jtroi'ocils I'vom tlu> conuM'. "Oli! \vr have lost 
our man." "()li ! now oui- luan is j'onr, anil wc can't 
talk." "Oh! make him como back again," IJut lie 
siniK's anil smilrs from alar, and is villain onongh to 
know whon \\c is well oil" and stay thrrr; and another 
king arises, seeing our bereaved eondition, and deigns 
to eome over and help ns. 

" We must ha\e a eonimitlee lo take eare of the 
food," \vhis})crs Mrs. 1). 

" \'es,'' says Mrs. K., " il" 1 send a pie, 1 want the Con- 
lerenee folks to have it. 1 don't want it eaten up by 
small boys!" 

"And we ought to have a committeo to lake eare o[' 
what is lel't, and set the tabic for supper." 

" ^Vhy, we are not going to give them a supper." 

"Yes, we are. There will be a good many who 
won't go till the last train, and will want a supper." 

" ^'c>u have too manv on eommitlee now," says King 
^^tork ; "you don't want any more." 

"And who is going to do all the work'/'' we demand, 
tui'niiig- upon him severelv. 

" JiCt this committee call in as much assistance as they 
want, but let them be responsible, ll'you have so many 
committees^ there is no head and no responsibility." 

We gaze \\\xm him with pity, remen\bcring the long 
line of conferenees and i>i"dinations aiul tea-]Kirties that 
have made our village history a. trail of glory, and the 
innumerable committees under which our liclds were 
won : but wc remember also that he is but :\ late comer, 
wd\o, during those eventful days, was wandering in some 
oulri- daikness, and docs not know that Ibitons never 



(!()NIi'I':ui<:n(!i: wnoNn hidiii out. 



I!)l 



will 1)(; .sI.'ivcm; :im(I I,Ih»ii;'Ji wc :ir<; <|inl,(; williii;'; l.o woilc 
(l;iy ;iinl iii;';lil., W(; will do it- ;is (•oiniiiilJiM-, :ii)(| not, ;ih 
tlio inuiiiaLs and miiiioiiH oC a cominiUccI An,si,sUiii(;(!, 
iiulcctl I TIiiiH <',v(!r JM l,li(! civi<; rniiid ovci'riddiui l)y or- 
ganizali<;ii, a,iid would ^lacrilic-o tin; nohlt; piidc ol' Uio 
rural di.sLricLs to tlio .sanu5 Cal.so f^od. 

" Wi; ()U;di1- to have- a cotriiuilUu; ou cai'i'ia;.jc.M," .su|i;- 
j^fcists oni; ol' l,ln; clccl ladies. 

" Wlial- do you want ofcarria^cH?" aHlvH Kiiijjj lio;^. 

" VVIiy, Lo hiin;'; iJio j)0()[)l(; to aud (Voin tin; .station." 

" Nonsciist!. If tlniy aru woll tin^y r,;iii wall<, and il' 
tlicy ar'c, .sick tlicy liad butter Hta.y at lionic" 

" I'lit iJh; niinist(!r.M, wo inu.stii't make tlicni walk." 
I^'orcvt-r to tli(! leinalo eye i.s your cl(;r<_';ytna,n baked of 
pui'cst ])or(;cla.in ; no eonmion cartlM'nwai'e i.s Ik;. 

"Do 'em good," rejoins M;utli(!n ware, l)rus((uely; 
"they will enjoy it. When w<! Ii;i,d tin; ordinal.ion, 
didn'l, .Icrciny Tayloi' and .lona.tli,'ui Mdwanls walk all 
tli(! way and think it was lun?" 

TIk! elect lady is silcnecd, hut not convin<;cd. Mc;i,n- 
wliilc tli(!r(! has hc(;n a, vole tiil^'n, ;nid ,'.hc holds up her 
hand. "What are you votin,i^ lor? 'V:\kr. down your 
hand," er'y the imixiriou.s whispers. 

" 1 won't; I'm //oin;-; to vote." 

" But you are voting contrary tnitided. We.'ve all 
vot(;d for Mi.s.s Mary |{." 

" I don't i'.nvv,. I'd r;ither 1)(! eonti'ary-minded tlian 
loHo my vote." And men have; the a,udacity lo Hay 
that in tin; l<ine;doni comin;.^, ol" CeniaJe Hun"raej(!, the l)eHt 
wonK^n will not vote I 

"'ra,k(; Mrs. X. Y. lor the other out;." 



[\>1 TWKI.VK MILKS FKOM A l.KMOX 

"\\\vM is that? Mrs. X. V.? No, sho is dc:\[\ and 
v^ho toKl nio ii was no use to pui \wv on anv thini;\ 
Why don't von have Mrs. Q. WT 

"Mi's. Q. P.! Sl\o oan't oon\o. ^'ou nood nol notni- 
iiiUe her." 

''Why oan't sho? Sho is a real good hand." 

'*l>ut don't von know? She — wliy — v^ho has a little 
baby." 

'*Xo, she hasn't, llor baby is two years old, and 
can stay with it^ gi^andnuMhor." 

" Hut. she has another." 

'' 1 don't believe it !'' 

" It's true." 

" How old is it, eonie?" 

''Born in July." 

" Well, that's news to nu\" 

Kvery body is taketi abaek, and the whole Conler- 
enee eoniiv^ to a dead hall over this probleniatieal baby ; 
but the definite date seems to silenee doubts. It' you 
ean assert that a baby was born on a lixed day, it fol- 
lows as the night that day that he was really born. 
So presently we return to business. Shall we have tea 
and eolVee? "Ni\ Tea, but not oolVee. Yes, tea and 
coiYee. Von ean'i make them both. Mrs. II. says ymi 
may have her eooking-stove. 1 will give the eolVeo 
jather than not have it. How mueh tea do we need'? 
Oh! twenty or thirty pounds. Absurd! Six pounds 
is enough. Why, how many will bo here? Thirty 
ehurehes belong to the C\Miferenee. .And they will all 
eome. .\nd most ot' "em won't have any regular meals 
tor two days belbrehand. so as to get up an ap[KMite. 



nosimuKNaK w/toNo HiiJic I)i:t. vy/, 

Oh ! have wo got a c/nnrniiWi \/> go around and »cc 
what people will give? If we don't, they will all «end 
in cake or j^ic-H, and we Hha'n't have any brea^l and meat. 
La! we haven't halfVy^rnrnittceH enough. We ought V> 
have sixteen more committee*, two on each. Oh ! »^j^; 
how Mr.H, M. want« to be in offie^;! She thinlcH if there 
arc ¥Ax\ji^:\\ nhe will fttand a chance. Why lo^^k I MrH. 
N. and Mrn. 0. aren't on any thing. They ought \ji} Vx;, 
they are ho public-Hpiritc^l. Well, make a cornmitt/;^; 
and put them on. ]iut we've got w^rnmittee» on every 
thing you can think of Make a general committee, 
then. But the first wa» a general cr^rnmittec. And 
thia will 1>J a general-in-ehief. Make it quick. And 
the perj^lexed King St^^rk puts hia privaUi opinions in 
his pocket, and moves that Mr. N., Mr. O., Mr. P., and 
Mr, Q. 1x5 ap[X,»inte^l a general c^^mrnittec. 

"And their wives!" yell the settees, in their enrage^l 
whispers. 

"And their wives," echoes the rnouth-piccc, snbdacd 
beyond even the semblance of rc-nijitance. 

And then, having formed fumimhUiOi enough to get 
ourw;lves all in honorable p^^Jtions, we depart in peace; 
not fancying that we have rna^le a brilliant stand for 
woman's rights, but firm in the faith that we shall cornc 
out strong on the Conference; dinner. And if you win 
the battle, what ruaWiV whether you do it by \\nri\<jhi 
tactics or your own ? 

Conference Kight Side Out is a very different and a 
very decorous thing. No committee, no squeaky voices, 
no seven women laying Vjold of one man, no croaking 
about cooking or pottering about pottery, but a digni- 

9- 



li)-! /'irA'Ar/; milks i'U(k\i a lkmox. 

liod assembly of clorgy ami dologatcs met to ivpoiL on 
tho state ami progress of their several Zions, to hear a 
ineniorial sermon, to take eounsel with eaeh other on 
tho work of the JamxI, ami stir up their own pure mimls 
by way of remembranee. Still, if you ask how tho Oon- 
fereneo was, ten (o one the ilelii;hted villager will I'eply, 
enthusiastieally : 

"Oh! every thing went beautil'ully. 'I'liere were 
two huiuliwl ami lifty people sat clown to dinner, and 
enough for eveiy body, and plenty left. The baked 
beans and brown-bread went like every thing." 

i\ngels and ministers of graee defend us! 1 wish to 
know if the ehurehes are sound in the faith ami alive 
in the sjnrit, and I am answered in baked beans! ^'es, 
and I venture to say, if we eould get at the eore o[' 
things, good Christians as wo all are, though we don't 
all know it, that not one of us who reeeive the Ooufer- 
enee takes the least thought for tho state of the ehurehes. 
"What Nve had at heart was to furnish a g\>od dinner lor 
tho olergy and the laity. 

And how they did eome ! It rained almost inees- 
santly, and we all know tho frantio elforts of tho minis- 
ters and the religious newspapers to make people dis- 
regard the weather on Sundays, and the blank array of 
empty pews with which people respond whenever there 
is a cloud in tho sky no bigger than a man's hand. So 
we went to church bemoaning our loaded hampers, and 
resolving to stay and dino oui-selvos rather than our 
viands should be lost — especially as wo had no dinner 
at home — and lo! a great multitude had gone up to tho 
courts oi' the Lord, and our i^ews were full in s}ute of 



fJONFJCUKNCE WRONG hlDK OUT. 10,"i 

the rain, and those of uh who came to cat remained l(j 
serve. 

"What shall we do with onr loaves and fishes?" 
communed the villaj^ers on their way to the tabernacle. 

" What shall we do with the people that have come 
to eat them?" th(iy asked, in the consternation of hospi- 
tality, when the tabernacle door flew open to the throng 
that gathered there. 

I must confess I attempted to stir up sedition, but met 
with inglorious failure. Seeing the chaos and care, the 
tables to be made, the settees to be turned and over- 
turned, the order to be disordered, and the disorder to 
be reorganized into order, I said, " It is too much work. 
It is fatiguing to think of" And every body cried with 
one voice, "Not in the least!" Indeed, they were as 
blithe as blackbirds, and as chattering. It was fun, and 
society, and good cheer. The more the merrier, both 
of hosts and guests; so then I turned right about face, 
determined to pick a quarrel with the existing order of 
things somehow, and said : " This shows how much we 
need amusements. IMiis Conference is a sort of eccle- 
siastical ball and supper. They are talking instead of 
dancing up in the ball-room, Vjut they look not much 
more solemn than the average American going through 
a cotillon, and I reckon the average cotillon American 
does not cheat in trade, does not snub his wife, does not 
lose his temper much oftener than the average church 
American. But we churchlings have so discounte- 
nanced amusements that we arc infinitely amused by 
80 small a change in our daily life as doing by the 
dozen once in seven years what we do singly at home 



iDt; 



TWh'l.yh' Mll.i:s /■/.•('.l/ .1 I.L'MOX. 



«'VtM-v (l;iv. The i>lo!isuro of fi;iM.tin!!; owl of the iKirunv 
HMitiiu' of lunno, ol" iiicUiiij'; (oi'jiMlu'r willi our IVicnds 
niul iu'i_!';hlH>rs, Inkcs thr \\c:\r ami tvar oul, ol'lln- work, 
uml iiisto.'ul v[' \\c:\\\\\\y>; rrlVoshrs aiul hoartiMis us. 
Wliy do wo nol, tluMi, loaru a lossou ['vo\\\ this, and iu- 
viM\l. ]>K'asaut. littlo jissoiuhlii^s for and of oursidvrs, with 
or without baked brans, whoiv yoiiui; aud old can moot 
and ohat and sini;- and ])lay suoh j'anios us ^\o iu>t ^o 
against, tho t'onsoiiMioo o\' tho biiMliron'.' "and lotail 
s^ossip, tittU'-tattlo, soandal, and slandor," say tho pui-ists 
and wisoaon>s whi> ha\t^ Ihhmi ri>arod in tho. boliol' that 
suoh is tho blaok oalniojnio and history of villaj'o sow- 
ing sooiotios. 

Woll, villagiM's nui';ht. he jMiilly iA' worso t-riuu-s. 
Soandal, slandor, gossip, tittlo taltK> hard nanios all. 
.And i\)Ugh usago doalois in suoh waros rocoivo at tho 
JKUuls of lht> t!u>orists. Wul aio tho littlo inijvs (|uito us 
blaok as Ihoy aio paintod 7 

Humanity, as it lios undor our i>bsorvution, oxisls in 
ihroo layors. Tho first, is tho suptM'I'ioially polit(> und 
snulin;-; ono. Tho noighbors oall ou \on, and you ro- 
turn ihoir oalls. ^'ou in(>ot, thoni in tho st lort. and at 
ohuroh. All is oivilil v, kimhu-ss, and !';ood-['ollowship. 
That is lav(M" luunboi- oni>. 

Thou you tail in bnsinoss, \o\\v lovoi" jilts yi>u, you 
tpiarrol with \iiur wilo, your sv>n is rusli(,'atod at. ool- 
logt\ and llu> wholo world turns g;lad anil malignant, 
and tlu> air is darkiMiod with tlu> i'lo\id ot' bad, lalso, 
harsh rumiMS. No wondor yi>u I'ailoil in bnsinoss! 
^'ou havi^ boon liying oxtravaganlly thoso livo yours, 
with purplo and \\\\c linon and sumptuous I'ai'o, wino 



roA'A'A'A'A'AT/.; \\/:<i.\<j ,sll)h: OCT. |<l7 

:uitl (MHiipnj'c, cimIIcss ciilcilaiiiiiiciil, and a lioiiscl'til oC 
siTvaiils lor 1,0 .siicli <liiii('iisi()iis .swcll.s your luodcsl, 
iiKUia^jv. iiiulcr ilu! iua^iiir_yiii^^-fi,lu,SH of your (iXfiUnl 
ii('i;j,hl)oi',s. ^'oiir jilliii''; lover lias (ivcn- bcuiii u rtduc- 
tanl, wooer; your wife you lia,ve abused siuco the, first, 
year of your luarriagi! ; and tlio li'ouhlo wiUi youi- son 
is thai lu! inad(! liiinscll' vile- and you I'csii'ained him 
not, and now lu^ lias killed a. man, and is liidin;'; from 
the autlioritic^s with a juico Hut upon Iuh h(!ad. This is 
layer number two; and you are I'cady to rent a lodgo 
in Hoinc! vast, wilderness, wher(i you nia.y be IVee from 
tlie Hi^ht of a maliciouH, evil-speakin;^ jx-ople, tli;it re- 
joiecjH in ItH ueighbor'H niLslbrtuncH. 

J^it give your auger another twist., and you will liavt; 
penetrated (piilc, throu'di tJiis bed of mire, and eoiiie 
into another stratum, clean and wholesome, and purcsr 
and Inuir far than any tliiii;j;' you hav(5 y(!t found. 
Wiieil a trouble! eonies whoBO SOUrCO ean be never so 
faintly traced l)ael< to your own rnindoing, youi- friends, 
it must b(! confessed, ar(! a litthi hard on you. No won- 
(1(U" your wif(; left you; you have. a,lways been mean 
and tyrannical. No wonder your sou has come ito 
grief; you alwa,y,M gave him his own head. The glad- 
ncSH at your trouble was not |)ur(! malice, but, somewhat 
an iiit,ell(!ctual appi'cciation of the inexorablenesH of law. 
'I'liere is a sort of ))0('t,ie jiisticcj in tin; su(!cession of 
cause and conse(pi(;iie,(! which nev<'r fails to jdve, |)l(!aH- 
iire except to the persons who illustrate! it.. Ibit, let 
your Kon be brought honu! to you beal,(!n by a burglar 
to tli(! jioint of danger, if not deat.h, be yoiirHclf Htrick- 
en with illness, or let your property be <!iidangere<| liy a 



l«)8 Twin.vi: mii.fs rh'o.u a i.kmd.v. 

tire ill (he vicinity, and ovory iiaiul is slivtcliod oul to 
liclj) you. The very persons wlio wouKl he llio lirst to 
look askance ujion your unwavranlod oxpondilure will 
1)0 instant, in seasiMi ami oul of season, I'or your solaco 
anil leliel'. Tlu^y \\\\l run to rclch the doctor for you 
at any hour of the day or night. Tiiey will watch day 
alter tlay by your sick-bed, will strain their ingenuity 
to invent some a}>{>eti/iing dish lor your (lulled taste, 
will count no service too severe, no drudgery too me- 
nial, to tlivcst you of care, and enable you to give your 
whole tluuight and attention to the recovery of your 
health. When your house is threatened, they will ex- 
ert every laculty to save it. They will put forth pre- 
cisely as much elVort to rescue your furniture from the 
Ihuncs as if it weri> their own ; and when, alter all, your 
house is strij^pcd and not burned, they will come hack 
next day, and re}>lacc your goods as heartily and as 
thoroughly as they snatched them oil". Nor can you 
help a certain clutching at the throat, an unsteadiness 
about the mouth, a mist in the eyes, a }n"essure at the 
heart, wdien you think ol' this wonderful brotherhood of 
humanity — this unspi>ke)i, alhhel]>ful sympathy. This 
is layer nund)er three, and however deep down you go 
you will lind nothing deeper to ncutrali/,e it. 

We often freight words ^yith a heavier meaning than 
they were meant to bear. AVe give to expressed disap- 
j)robation a disproportionate weight. AVo are always 
trying to repress gossip, and never to fortify society 
against it. We write stories showing how lovely wom- 
an was brought to her grave by careless rumor, but we 
never show how foolish it was in the lovely woman to 



aONFJU/iKXCM \yU.<).\(/ SIDK OUT. \\)\) 

rnrikc .1 {j^ruvii iikiLUt orciarcrlcsM niiiior. Wt; :in; iilvvays 
Iraiuiiig tlio tongue, biil, vv(^ imvcr tr;iiii \\w vav. 

" If villi wiiiilil iilwjivH h{.\ (liHcrdcl, 
V'wi' ihiii^^s ()l)Ki)i'vo willi euro — 
or ulioni you Hpttiik, to whom you Hi)oivk, 
Ami how, iukI wlioii, mid wlicic-," 

HiiyH Sir Meiitoi-, niid rancies Ik; lias sc^MJihI llio wIkjIh 
iuuLUm'; but, if it is all tin; saiiu! to you, Sir Mentor, w<' 
"WouUl II great deal rather not bo discreet than pay sueh 
a price lor discretion. (Jonversation would be a very 
lively exorcise, piekcjted ai'outid with tlies(! livi; points 
of Calvinism ! A Ihr betUu' way is to estini;it(! f^';ossip 
at its I'cal worth. A great deal that passes Ibr scandal 
is but an inteneetual exercise, pcstty for want of some 
thing larger, but sudiricntly innoe(-nt. Mahee, willful 
falsi;h()()d, carelessness ol" truth, d(!sign to injure, arc; tin- 
mitigatedly bad, and ought to banish tlaui' proprietors 
from socic^ty ; i)Ut curiixsity — a fondiu^ss Ibr story-telling 
and story-hearing may be- only one Ibrni of mental 
activity, and entirely consistent with great good -will. 
Ij(!t us giv(; in lo it with wdiat grace; we may —when vv<! 
have guarded oui'selves against it as far as we can. 
Vou do not in the least cai'(! how many handkei'eliieCs 
your neighbor has; but il' it Mi-alilles iiei" to know how 
many you iiavc, let lieu- c(junt them on the clothes-line 
it' she lik(;s. And if she thinks tiiero are more than 
an cconomieal pcuson ought to have, and expresses her 
opinion in the vicinity, what harm is done? Vou need 
not fling it at her tlu! lusxt time you see her, and make 
hor uncomfortable. It is not necessary that every body 
sliould apj)rove us in (!very i-esp(!ct b(;fbrc we can be 



2()0 TWbn.vh: miles from a lemox. 

on good terms \Yilli him. rooplo may condemn half 
the traits of our character and yet lind enough in the 
other half to insure iVicndly Ibeling and friendly de- 
meanor. 

And hall" a k>af is so nuu-h bettor than sour bread! 

Why not have, then, a little neighborhood conference 
every month, or as often as shall seem agreeable, to 
which good manners shall be the only entrance fee, and 
where baked beans or roasted {potatoes shall be the 
inexpensive but sulhcient entertainment, though each 
may bi'ing that which seems good in his own eyes? 

This would make the ehuivh the recognized social as 
well as religious centre, and might somehow equalize 
matters. For me, 1 am amazed at the goodness of the 
worUl, its forgiveness, and foi'bearance, and general vir- 
tuonsness. Here we chureh-lolk berate the '' woi-Ul's 
people" every Sunday about their trespasses ami sins, 
and yet no sooner (\o we get up a Confeivnee, which is 
exclusively a church matter, and has nothing to do with 
the world except to bui'nish uji the weapons wherewith 
we mean to attack it, and immoiliatoly the kindly, hos- 
pitable, good-natured world forgets all the hard names 
wc have been calling it; turns to with as hearty a will 
as if it were in good and regular standing; knocks up 
tables and chairs, provides horses and carriages, spreads 
thick slices of bread and butter, and thin slices of ham 
and tongue, all one as if we had not ruled it out of the 
Kingdom Come. And we gladly accept. We have no 
intention of associating with it in the next world, but we 
arc very glad to avail ourselves of its services in this. 
We make a distinct mark on the sheep of our fold, and 



i 

CONPERENdlS WRONG SIDE OUT. 2(Ji 

SO class them off from tlic goats; but so far as natural 
history is concerned you never could tell them apart. 

There is, I regret to be obliged to say, one droj) of 
bitterness in our sweet draught. Wc did not have 
puddings at our Conference. To bo sure, wc did not 
need them. Need them ! I should think! Why, when 
Mrs. Betty came in, erect and confident, with bag, pail, 
and pillow-case, and succinctly inquired, "Meat cut up 
yet? Want the scraps," were wc not so filled with 
liiith in our resources that, though the meeting was 
barely begun in the church triumphant above, and the 
tables not spread in the church militant below, gener- 
ous hands laid hold of joints, carved out bones, and cut 
off gristle, leaving large margins of meat, made odds 
and ends where none existed, and sent Mrs. Betty away 
rejoicing, to feed out of her pillow-case till Thanks- 
giving? 

No, wc did not need puddings, nor even miss them 
till the next day, when, as ill luck would have it, they 
got up an installation in the neighboring village, which 
we all attended, and the iron entered into our souls, for 
they installed with puddings! In every other respect 
we think we held our own; but those frosted, foamy 
puddings gave a whiteness and delicacy to the tables 
which ours lacked. We like our minister too well to 
hope for an installation of our own, and the Conference 
only comes round once in seven years; but I warrant 
you whoever lives to sec that day will sec something 
in the way of puddings that shall make all his previous 
experiences of frost and foam seem but an idle dream. 

9* 



202 rwKLvt: milks tiiOM a i.kmox. 



corxTiiV i'/iAi:ACT/:h\ 

IxV^vw simplicity is like tho snakes of Ireland. 
There is no rustic simplicity. At least, I do not know 
Avhero you will lind it outside of books. AVhat with 
the telegraph, and railroads, and lyeeuni lectures, and 
fashion plates, every IhhIv knows every thing. Think 
no nioiv, oh city-zen, of coniing down into our solitude 
to astonish and captivate us with your airs and graces. 
AVe know how broad phylacteries ought to be j\s well 
:\s you. We know where the ilounccs go, what eoloi's 
blend, what shades are stylish, which way stripes ought 
to run. Po not think to overtop us with your Tyivlese 
peaks, or overpilo us with your pulls and paniers. Go 
into our church, and learn that we worship just as de- 
voutly as you, with knots just as bright, heels just as 
high, and hats just as daintily poised on the tips of our 
noses or the backs of our heads. Ignorance is igno- 
rance, and vulgarity is vulgarity, but their existence no 
longer depends on locality or population. Mr. Justin 
!N['Carthy thinks that American men are particularly 
Ihie-looking, and some one, commenting on ^Ir. M'Car- 
thy, says these fine-looking men are generally city-bred. 
Very likely. "We talk prettily about many thing-s, and, 
among othei"S, of the healthiness and desirableness of 
farming; but it seems to me that no man sooner mai^s 



(JO UNTIL Y (JHA IL \ CTFJt. 2 O-'J 

the cornclincHs wljicli his Maker gave hirri tlian the con- 
firmed farmer, tlie actual, hard-working farmer. ^J'ho 
man who depends upon his farm for liis Bub.si.stence is 
very ix\A to be early wrinkled, bent, bald, rheumatic; 
ho comcH to have a hard, shrunk, shriveled look. 1V;o 
often he bequeaths to his children diminished Ktaturc 
and enfeebled frames. City folk arc constantly urging 
young men to remain in the country, and warning them 
of the certain struggle and possible failure that await 
them in the city ; but the country lads see sights which 
impress them more than a thousand newspapers. They 
sec the country lad who went up to the city years ago 
grown now into a stout, healthy, handsome man. lie 
KlamJs erect, he walks elastic, and his clothes fit ! Every 
thing betokens self confidence, a man at peace with him- 
self and the world, a life that has had in it satisfaction 
and enjoyment. His brothers, who staid at home on 
the farm, or in its attendant shop, present a contrast al- 
most [Kithetie. 'i'hey are round-shouldered, and gaunt 
from constant t(jil and exposure. ^J'hey have not the 
air of command and possession. They arc men whom 
the world has f)ressed hard, not men who have con- 
quered the world. Their fate is not enticing, yet they 
see many things, 

"Yes," says my friend, the forester, "I got up and 
went off to work at seven in the morning about every 
day last winter." 

"It was you, then, whom I used to see going across 
the fields so regularly ?" 

" With a tin j)ail? Yes, that was me." 

" Vou carried your dinner, and staid all day?" 



20-1 TWKLVK MILKS rh'iKM A l.KMO.W 

" Vos, Sam ami mo, nvo out twontv-fivo cord of wood, 
one job. That's prolty hard work — a oord of wood a 
day. Wust oi' il was haviii" your tool soj^piu" wot. 
AVo had to staud in tho water and slosh I'loarn uj> to 
horo." 

"Ishoidd think you wouKl havo tVvv-.on." 

'*Pld. 1 iVozo ono sido ol' my loot a httK\" 

'*J)id it u'ivo you any troubk^?'" 

*'Lor' no! I'so owl thoro all wintor, woiking in tho 
cold, and novor got cold. Thon I oomo homo and lay 
round a ooal stovo, an' goin" out an' in, an' got an awful 
oold."' 

"l>ut did not your dinnor froozo?" 

"Yos. The' want no other way. Hut thoro, you 
couldn't do it if you hadn't got a oonstilution to lay 
out on." 

''lint isn't it a }nty to lay your oonstitution out on 
suoh a hard undortaking"/'' 

" Woll, you must do what comes to hand. dom. now, 
M'ill make live hundred dollars out of that lot. That's 
my cal'lation ; and 1 got a good job, tluMigh it was a jMvt- 
t.y tough one. There's a few men in this town that's in- 
dependent, and I'm glad of it ; but I ain't one of them.'' 

"Wiio are they, tor instance "/" for I sooni to see a 
mischioviMis twinkle in his dvMuuro eye. 

'' Wall, there's .Kd Stanley koe[is a horse and carriage, 
and riilos nnuul, and lives on the interest of his nuHioy.'' 
The sly-boots! lie knows every ono is concerned only 
to sec how severe will be tho jerk when Va\ Stanley 
comes to tho end ol' his very short rope, lun* ropes 
havo an end, and, if thev are lorovor unrolled, tho owner 



couNruY <:iiAiiAi:TKn. 200 

will find it, whether he be Marquis of Ilafitings or a 
village tailor; fortunate if he do not find it around his 
neck." 

"How long do you 8uppo8C the interest will last?" 

"Oh! J do' know that, 'Twould last a good while 
if it did not take so much to live on. Now in my line, 
you see, it takes a good deal just to live on. Work up 
to your knees in slosh, and you don't want much plum- 
cake or frosted cake, but somethin' that's got some hold 
onto it." 

" That makes work to do at home." 

" That's so. But then, when I was out there, I used, 
mo.stly, to get breakfast myself, and let the woman lay 
abed." 

''You did r 

"Yes. I'd rather. Bread was all made, an' I'd just 
make the coffee and broil a steak." 

" How came you to know how?" 

"Oh! I can cook. I don't like to, but I can do it, 
and it's a great deal better than to have her up before 
daylight and then round alone all day." 

"That is a thousand times true and thoughtful and 
considerate; but I don't see how your unregenerate 
mind ever came to think of it." 

"Oh, I've thought of a good many things V^rowsing 
along, like, and, between you and me and the post, I 
think the women have the hardest time. I've done 
w^oman's work a good many times at a pinch, fii.st and 
last, and I vow I'd rather do my own. It's the easiest 
in the long run. But la! settin' round at home, I'd ju.st 
as lieves clap a piece of pork on the fire as not." 



206 TWELVE 3IILES FROM A LE3I0N. 

"You are like all the rest of us; that is, work that 
is not work you like, and for the rest you will do what 
you must, without whining." 

"That's so; but then, some work with their heads, 
and some with their hands. Some heads are better 
than others — different from others, at least. Now, if I 
had had all the advantages — I did have a good many 
— I went to school ; but, if I had gone to school till I 
was as old as Noah, I never should have been a Eufus 
Choate or a Daniel Webster. You see, the mind acts 
in that line, and ambition goes along with it," 

" Yet in hand labor one needs brains," 

"That's so. You want brains in farming — need to 
use a great deal of judgment. If it's only going into 
the woods to cut a cord of wood, there's an advantage 
to be taken. One will do more work in less time than 
another, just from the way he takes hold. One comes 
in, all of a breeze, and goes right into it, and don't do 
so much as a man who looks round and gets the ad- 
vantage." 

I am sure I have heard that said before in more 
pompous phrase. 

Here is a book, printed in London just a hundred 
years ago, called " The Rural Socrates : being Memories 
of a Country Philosopher. Translated from the French." 
The French, I fancy, had very little to do with it. My 
copy says it was written by Hon. Benjamin Vaughan, 
of Hallowell, Maine, a follower of Priestley to this coun- 
try, once a Member of Parliament, and a practical farm- 
er of skill and good sense. The traditions of his adopt- 
ed home report him as a white-haired, fine-looking gen- 



COUNTRY CHARACTER. 207 

tleman of the old school, without fear and without re- 
proach. Thus statelily discourseth my gentleman of the 
old school : 

" I have studied with uncommon assiduity the char- 
acters of men of every profession, who have been distin- 
guished for prudence and understanding. I observed, 
with astonishment, that, among those engaged in the 
same occupations, some were riveted in penury and 
want, while others enjoyed affluence and ease. The 
cause of this inequality seemed worthy of the exactest 
and most accurate examination ; and the pains I took 
to investigate it at length succeeded : I perceived that 
those persons who formed no regular plan of life, 
strangers to reflection and foresight, thoughtless of to- 
morrow, were, by the negligence of their conduct, the 
sole authors of their own distresses and disappointments. 
Those, on the contrary, whose steady and enlarged prin- 
ciples govern and guide their sagacious and determined 
views ; who unite, in their several professions, diligence 
and attention, order and punctuality, qualities which 
smooth the rugged paths of life, will find the journey 
more easy, more speedy, and infinitely more lucrative. 
These are maxims which whoever attends to must gain 
his point, in defiance of opposition, and amass wealth, 
should the malignity of men or demons endeavor to 
wrest it from him." 

This Rural Socrates speaks from the gathered wisdom 
of the centuries and the amenities of a scholarly and 
courtly life. My Rural Socrates has behind him only 
the courtesies of the corn-field and the wisdom of the 
wood lot ; yet it seems to me he goes by a shorter cut 



208 TWULVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

to tbe same core of truth around wliicli our majestic 
philosopher circumambulates with so much dignity. 

"That's so," says my Socrates, who listens to my 
reading of the extract with grave and critical attention. 
" It's all cal'lation. You may work, but it's cal'lation 
that makes you rich. Jest so in the house." — Oh ! true 
man! always taking refuge from his own sins in "the 
woman whom Thou gavest to be with me !" — " One 
woman will make a good meal out of nothin', you may 
say; it's wholesome, and palatable, and — good. And 
another woman will take the same, and you — jest pass 
it outdoors. The difference is — now you won't write 
a book about me?" 

"Yes, I will — report every word. Go on." 

"It all depends on the woman. A woman can throw 
out of the window, with a tea-spoon, more than a man 
can bring in at the front door with a shovel." 

" Of course she can, my Socrates, woman being the 
superior person ; and never is her superiority more 
brilliantly proven than in this very fact : that with her 
delicate, dainty, silver tea-spoon she not only purifies 
her house of all the dirt and rubbish which her hus- 
band brings in with his huge, unsightly shovel where 
shovels do not belong, but she leaves a margin of clean- 
liness, as your own self admits. Besides divesting the 
house of his impurity, she invests it with her own beau- 
ty, eh?" 

Possibly my Eural Socrates did not mean precisely 
this, but he shoulders his shovel and walks off with an 
indescribable, twinkling, appreciative, yet sober smile. 

But now comes up a greater than Socrates, who is not 



COUNTRY CHARACTER. 209 

to be so easily dislodged. Says Horace Greeley :* " My 
father was of this [the farming] class, as my only broth- 
er is; so were both my grandfathers, and their ances- 
tors, so far as I can trace them. My paternal grand- 
father raised nine sons and four daughters, and never 
was worth $2000 in any one of his ninety-four years. 
My father was an unusually hard worker, always a 
farmer, never worth $2000, generally worth from up 
to $500; he died eighty-six years old, and five of his ■ 
seven children survive, from sixty to forty-nine years 
old. (The two earliest died in infancy.) My uncle 
John, born two years after my fother, has been a farmer 
all his life ; he is now eighty-seven years old, but erect 
and vigorous ; his eye bright, and his voice as full and 
ringing as most men's at fifty. lie is the last of the 
thirteen children of my grandfather; one only died of 
consumption at thirty-three years of age, leaving six 
children, of whom five are still with us; the rest of my 
fiither's brothers and sisters lived to be from seventy to 
eighty years old, except one who died at fifty, and he 
was not a habitual worker. All the rest were farmers 
or farmers' wives — none of them ever rich ; most of 
them quite poor; yet not one of them all was prema- 
turely ' wrinkled, bent, or bald ;' not one of them be- 
queathed to his children (and all of them had children) 
'diminished stature' or 'enfeebled frames.' Here is 
a large family of poor, and generally hard-working 
farmers, the descendants of a race of just such, who have 
lived by tilling the hard, rocky soil of New Hampshire 

* It is, perhaps, needless to say thai this was written before Mr. 
Greeley's death. 



210 TWFLVU MILES FROM A LEMON. 

since the year 16-iO I happen to be the only one 

of the crowd who might be called 'bald.' I was more 
'bent' at forty than my father or his father at seventy; 
and I am the only one who earned his livelihood other- 
wise than by farming I have been here [in the city] 

forty years, neither thoughtless nor unobservant; and, 
in my judgment, more country-born men have died here 
in prisons, hospitals and the alms-house, in those forty 
years, than have achieved even a modest competence. 
And day after day my soul sickens at the never-ending 
procession of the multitude who crawl on the knees of 
their spirits to those who have achieved position and 
means, with the beggar's petition: 'Please give me 
something to do.' " 

Alas! I am in an evil case. I have made an asser- 
tion which I can not prove. I spoke of the attractions 
of city life to country folk, and contrasted the erect 
figure and elastic step of the lad who went to the city 
and made his fortune, with his prematurely bald, bent, 
rheumatic comrades who fought it out on the farm; 
and down comes Mr. Greeley upon me with a regiment 
of uncles, aunts, and grandfathers, all farmers, all straight, 
smooth, hairy, and hundreds of years old, and marshals 
them "in opposition to my naked assertion." 

And I can not answer back. It is all very well to. 
bring on your bright-eyed, heavy-haired ancestry to 
confute and confound your foes; but think of the she- 
bears that w^ould come out of the woods to tear me in 
pieces should I go around among my kinsfolk and ac- 
quaintance, and say to one and another, "Go up, thou 
bald-head. Go up, thou bald-head, and show thyself to 



COUNTRY CHARACTER. 211 

Horace Greeley in proof of my veracity." No, my 
"naked assertion" must still stand unclothed upon, for 
I can not afford to pay the price of a wardrobe. Yet I 
did draw from life, not upon imagination. My painting 
was a portrait, and no fancy sketch. My generaliza- 
tion may have been wrong, but my observation was 
right — unless, indeed, I am called on to prove it in a 
court of law, in which case I shall not only deny its cor- 
rectness, but shall stoutly maintain that I never made 
it! 

And no more than I can prove my own statements, 
can I disprove Mr. Greeley's; but I can do the next 
best thing, and show that they do not amount to any 
thing. I admit that his family are all as tall, and hale, 
and old as he represents, though I have seen none of 
them. But I have seen lum. Now, he says he is the 
most " bald " and " bent " of the whole crowd ; thinks 
he works harder at sixty than his farming friends did 
at thirty ; and, with all his hard city work and city care, 
he has a face like the full moon for roundness, and fair- 
ness, and placidity, and his voice is the voice of tran- 
quillity, and Ifis step is the step of abstraction, undis- 
turbed by hurry. When, therefore, he arrays his form- 
ing friends against my farming facts, I simply set his 
cit}'- face against his city fjicts, and, if that is not a vic- 
tory, it is at least a dead-lock ! "We are just where we 
were when we started, for the Greeleys are all hand- 
some together, and ruled out of court. 

What / know about farming is that, as it exists be- 
fore my eyes, it is hard work, and wearing work, and 
uncertain work — or rather uncertain wage. In the Ions: 



212 TWELVE MILES FHOJI A LEMOX. 

run, I suppose, a man is as sure of getting a living off a 
farm as anywhere else, but he is tolerably sure of not 
getting much more than a living. In that sense, indeed, 
farming is certain work, Mr. Greeley's own figures show 
this. Jf farmers are healthy, happy, and wise, of course 
it is immaterial whether they are worth two thousand 
or two millions of dollars ; but as things go, the prospect 
of working hard for ninety-four years, and never having 
more than two thousand dollars to show for it, is any 
thing but an enchanting one. Mr. Greeley may sing 
idyls all his life, but his good, calm face, his exalted 
position, and the rumors of the fortunes he has gained, 
and saved, and lost, will overpower his idyls, and lure 
young life to the city with a stronger attraction than all 
the bi'ight eyes, and ringing voices, and slender purses 
of his highland-clan can counteract. It is no matter 
how many foil. "We do not see the failures, and we 
walk by sight. We hear nothing of the journals that 
die in their infanc3^ We know only how victoriously 
the Tribune has lived. We do not see the country-born 
paupers perishing in the city alms-house. We only see 
Horace Greeley calling no man master. We do not go 
lip from the country farms to be the ninety-nine foilures, 
but the one success. 

Of the fortunes of farming, compared with those of 
other occupations, I am not competent to speak. In- 
deed, the only way in which I see how a person can 
ever become rich is by writing. There, you do what 
you like, what you would rather do than not, what you 
would do any wa}^, and are paid ten times what it is 
worth, even when 3'ou are cheated. You please your- 



COUNTRY CHARACTEB. 213 

self on high wages. But to accumulate a fortune by 
making a half-cent profit on a pound of sugar, or a yard 
of cloth, or a bushel of potatoes, is rolling the stone of 
Sisyphus. And farming seems to have the steadiest run 
of unsteadiness. Wheat is up, and your crop is down 
with a tornado. Next year you have a magnificent 
harvest, but so have your neighbors, and the price is 
nowhere. This year your whole farm raises three ap- 
ples. Last year the trees were loaded, and the mar- 
ket would not pay for transportation. The cranberries 
flourished like a green bay-tree, but an early frost nip- 
ped them in the green. The peaches and grapes prom- 
ised well, and a hailstorm destroys the whole year's 
growth. Hay is fifty dollars a ton, but the drought has 
starved your fields. The marshes at last were fruitful, 
but a sudden north-easter carried your hay-stacks out 
to sea. 

But when Mr. Greeley asks "whether our loving 
Father and Friend has so ordered his creation that 
obedience to his commands makes us 'early wrinkled,' " 
and so forth, I say at once, No. But he has so ordered 
it that, if we do not know how to obey them wisely, we 
suffer just as much as if we refused to obey them will- 
ingly. I will not say that he has ordered us to till the 
ground, but he has so arranged matters that the one 
thing indispensable is to till the ground. Therefore I 
firmly believe that farming must one day be profitable, 
both for the life that now is and for that which is to 
come. It is, indeed, becoming so. But in multitudes 
of cases it is not so. I do not deny that ignorance or 
thriftlessness may be the cause. I only say that farm- 



214 t]V/:lvj-: Mrr.i:s from a lkmox. 

iiig is a work wliioh ivquiros so mncli more brains, 
scionco, skill, than many otlior occupations, that igno- 
rance is more ilital. It requires more shrewdness and 
sa^^aeity to be ;i successl'ul larmer than it does to be a 
successful shoe-maker or tailor. The reason why farm- 
ers work harder than their jkhm's in trailes is not be- 
eauso they arc less intelligent, but because their work 
is more exacting. The boy who is not bright enough 
to make new discoveries or inventions in larming may 
bo bright enough to tend a corner grocery, and too 
bright to be a mere routine farmer. l>ut if the corner 
grocery will tiro of him, and he is too proud or too lazy 
to come back to tlio farm, let him not go begging to 
Mr. Greeley and say I sent him. 1 scorn him! Any 
one is to be scorned who will whine rather than work. 
1 never saw farming made easy or jKirticularly lucra- 
tive either to man or woman; and neither stake nor 
scalVold shall force me to say that 1 would not rather 
be sitting in my own library, writing at a hundred dol- 
lars a word, than digging jH>tatoes at a dollar a bushel, 
or churning butter at iifty cents a pound. .l>ut if pub- 
lisluMs reject my papers, And I refuse to dig or to churn, 
but join "the never-ending procession of the multitude 
who crawl on the knees of their spirits," begging Mr. 
Greeley to give them something to do — why, then, let 
me bo given over to uncovenantcd mercies! 

Another man, " mountain born," says : "1 have always 
been an admirer of the beautiful in nature and art, yet 
it seems to mo that there is an inner life — a wealth of 
character which is far more lovely than polished speech, 
fine clothes, and costly mansions, and which is the only 



€0 UNTR Y en A /,'. ( ( ' '/'AY,'. 2 1 ;') 

standiird by wliicli to csiiiiKitc a man's true worth. Vrct 
1 liavc been (breed, under the most a<^'gravating eireum- 
stances, to believe that city {)eoj)le, as a chiss, entertain 
a feeling bordei'in<^' on contempt for their rui'al cousins, 
whose mannei's ai'e not so ])olished, whose hands are not 
so small and soft, and who do not always dress in the 
height ol' lashion. 1 have been rre(|uently scorneil and 
sneered at by misses who to-day ai'e my social inlei'ioi's, 
and would ix'ceive my advances with [)leasure. What 
makes the diilerence? JMy pui'pose to lead an upright 
and ust'fid lile was as strong then as now. 

"I know ol' a woman who has been I'rom her child- 
liood one of tho most heroic persons that ever lived. 
At homo she had scarcely any advantage's. She was 
nurse, servant, and housekeeper of a large family. She 
was never allowed to attend a quarter's school, and was 
really required to do the work of three persons until her 
marriage. She lias been a slave to work, ti'oid)le, and 
anxiety nearly all hci- life, and yet, although she is one 
of the best Christian women in the world, lier rustic 
manners and language woidd excite the scorn of col- 
Icgc-bred men and city ladi(\s so that lu^r own children 
would feel it. Such is the shamefid j)ower of city asso- 
ciations, that they tempt the young to neglect aiul al- 
most t(.) scorn those to whom they are bound by the 
strongest and most sacred ties." 

I think my friend is violently wrong and ileeply 
right. Now, then, let us draw the lino exactly on the 
boundaries. He believes there is a wealth of charaetc;!", 
an inngr life more lovely than j)olished speech, and by 
which alone a man is to be judge(l. Vcs and no. Yes, 



216 TWTLVJ-J MILL'S FL'OM A LEMOX. 

because the life is more than meat, and the body than 
raiment. No, because we 9?? (/.sV judge of the inner life 
largely by speech, and divss, and manner of outward 
life. For instance, i know nothing whatever of ^[r. A. 
T. Stewart's inner hfe. lie may be a noble and heroic 
soul, or an ignoble and cowardly one. lUu, if he buiKls 
for himself a statolv dwelling, lilling it with the treas- 
ures of art, 1 infer that he loves beauty. If he gives to 
Chicago fifty thousand dollars lor her sulfering children, 
I infer that he is ins[)ired b}^ the enthusiasm of human- 
ity. Po you say it ma}- have been mere ostentation — 
that the widow who bestowed lu>r ten-cent scrip may 
have been more really benevolent ? ^'ou have no i-ight 
to say it. If you tliink so, keep it to yourself. It is 
bad cnougii to ascribe bad motives \o bad deeds, but ho 
who ascribes bad motives to good deeds is a churl in- 
deed. \Ve have no more right to aspen^e the motives 
of a millionaire than of n poor widow. When we find 
that a man may be confidently counted on to do good 
acts, then we attribute to him, perforce, a noble inner 
life, whether he is poor and only shares his crust with 
a poorer brother, or whether he be rich and gives of his 
abundance. Too much can not be said to emphasize 
the superiority of soul to circumstance, but do not let us 
be too haid o\\ circumstance. It is better to be lovely 
in heart than in hand, but it is charming to bo both! 
The sweetest temper, the grandest soul in the world, aj)- 
pears to better advantage through grannnatical language 
and correct pronunciation than their opposites. No- 
body will deny that, but it must I'ollow, as the night 
the day, that uncouthness of word and manner is a dis- 



CO irsTii Y ciiA /.'. I ( -n<:ii. 2 1 7 

advantage; and the .sun under a eloiid can noL niake 
so doci) an impression, can nol Ix; so (!asily wsen ;in(l 
recognized, as lIh; sun in a cXvax sky. My I'liend, I :iiii 
sure, agrees to this lieaitily, so we will j/o on tcj the 
next liead. 

I)o lh(! city [xjopli', indeed, h)()I< down npon theii' 
coiuitry consins? 1 can tell them that wt;, the eoinitry 
{)copl(!, return their look with cf)mpound interest. I'nt 
it S(!{;ms to m(! tin; eont<;nipt on l)()th sides is very inno- 
cent. Cultivated and well-br(;d people reeogni/e and 
resf)eet ea(;h oth(!r wherev(U" (bund; and to the; con- 
t(;nij)l or admiralioii oC the ilhhred w(; are alik'e indifl'ei'« 
ent. 'l'h(! chjscM' association ol' cities is perli;ij)S favor- 
able to the; growth of that consid(;ration Ibr othei's' 
I'iglits and (eelin'js which we call good bi'(!(;ding ; but 
the vulgarity of the city is infinitely more ollensive than 
that oC the country. ^I'Iku'c is an nppishiKsss, a jxu'tness, 
a (limsiness about it that ;i,niioys you. 'I^he untutored 
I'ustie is slow and (;liunsy, [)eihaps, Ijut, Il(;av(;n be 
j)raised ! he is not da|)p(U-. lie may b(; nncomrortabhr, 
uncertain as to tin; pioper disposition (jl'his hands and 
feet, but he never commits the damning cockii(;y sin of 
thinking that lie is "astonishing the nativ(;s." 7\wk- 
wardness and ignorance are never really vulgar except 
when ih(!y arc pretentions; and thos(i persons, whether 
in city or country, who make an awkward person feel 
uncomfortable are thcmsclveH as deficient in manners as 
is he whom they ridicule. 'I'Ik; best-br(;d ])eo[)lc are the 
most sim|)l<!. ^i'hr; finest numners are like the fin(;st 
style, invisible. The gentleman, the lady, has no tangi- 
ble "manners." it is only that a sweet soid, a Idndly 



218 TWFL VE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

nature, shines out to bless and cheer, to amuse and help 
its follows. 

Perhaps, after all, I have not so much maintained 
that. the city does not contemn the country, as that it is 
of no consequence whether it does or not. That is not 
the same thing, but it is prett}' near it — so near that 
the }M-actical results are the same. 

Why did the misses laugh at tlie man to whom they 
would now bow down and do obeisance? Parti}- be- 
cause they were giddy, giggling girls, who knew noth- 
ing better to do. But do not let us be too hard on the 
poor things. They unlearn their laughing so soon. 
Their heads often stay light while their hearts get 
very heav3\ And then, dear friend, be not angry; but 
possibly you did say or do some little thing that was 
I'idiculous. The best men and women are liable to the 
same liite. A doctor of divinit}'- once spoke of Goethe 
as "(?o-ert//i" in a manner that it was agonizing not 
to laugh at. There is nothing disgraceful in mis- 
pronouncing a foreign name. "We all give Paris her 
tale of consonants; but there was a rotundity, an un- 
speakable, unflinching loyalty to his native tongue in 
the way my reverend gentleman named the great poet 
that was well-nigh irresistible. The girls were silly 
and ill-bred to sneer. They are older and wiser now, 
and you, friend, arc less sensitive, less self-conscious, 
more sure of your ground, more a man of the world 
than 3-ou were. You have both improved as you have 
matured — so do not lay it up against them. Country 
girls are just as hard on a man whose person and man- 
ners do not please them as are city girls. It is not a 



COUNTRY CUARAVTElt 219 

matter of city and country. It is a matter of individ- 
uals. But if girls only would or could be high-bred! 
Good-breeding, in the last analysis, is but perfect sym- 
pathy. It is simply having imagination enough to 
know how another person feels, and sense enougli to 
know what to do to make hini feel happy, and good- 
ness enough to do it — and be quick about it. 

What shall be said of the mother whose weary years 
have but ministered to the necessities of others and 
neglected her own soul's needs? Alas, the tragedy of 
such a life ! Alas, that it is too often a real tragedy ! 
The past can not be restored, but the future is ours. 
The man who turns from the wife or mother who has 
thus sacrificed herself at bis altar is accursed; but the 
sacrifice ought never to be made. The very precious 
ointment was not taken to anoint the feet of the Lord, 
but to rub up the pots and kettles. Its sacredness was 
in its uselessness. Its use was sacrilege. 

Children can not prevent it. The fire is ashes on the 
altar before they know its cost. But a man is worse 
than brutal to demand or to accept such a sacrifice from 
his wife. A woman is wholly, cruelly wrong in mak- 
ing it. 

Petroleum V. Nasby, in his poem of " Uannah Jane," 
gives us such a life-history. Hannah Jane yields youth, 
beauty, culture, all, to make the fortune of her husband. 
She remains to the end illiterate, a drudge, slave, pack- 
horse, and her husband rather takes credit to himself 
for not "shoving her out alone," and never gets further 
than "if either, I'm delinquent." 7/" either! Such a 
man is dead in sin not to see that he is worse than a 



220 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOK 

wife murderer. lie lias slain a soul. What he prom- 
ised to love, honor, and cherish, he has degraded, de- 
spoiled, destroj^ed. " There's another world beyond 
this," poetizes the musing husband, but he need not con- 
cern himself with that at present. There is this world. 
One is enough at a time for such culprits as he. The 
man who builds his own flime and fortune on the souls 
of his wife or his children does not wait for the next 
world to condemn him ; he is condemned already. He 
is that execrated and ever execrable monster who plun- 
ders the one he has sworn to protect, that he may en- 
rich himself. 

But women ou2:ht to see for themselves that it is a 

O 

waste of the ointment. Sometimes, perhaps, it can not 
be helped. Fate closes around the child, and fixes her 
in one groove till the grave releases her. Perhaps. I 
can hardly think that in this country any fate is so 
strong as to keep the soul fast if the Avill be not first a 
traitor. Bat, at least, let women not feel that any such 
sacrifice is their duty. They injure the very ones whom 
they wish to benefit. The noblest son in the world can 
not feel that delight in a rude and ignorant mother that 
he would feel in an intelligent mother. lie will be 
unspeakably grateful, tender, faithful ; he will love her 
and cherish her to her life's end ; but he will miss — it is 
impossible he should not miss — all that she has lost, all 
that she has failed to gain — that which makes lier his 
equal and comrade. Nasby's Abel was a villain, but, if 
he had been an angel, he could not have enjoyed Han- 
nah Jane degraded, as he would have enjoyed her ex- 
alted. His villainy was not in his recognizing that she 



COUNTRY CHARACTER. 221 

was liis wife, nor in feeling ashamed of her, but in per- 
mitting her to become his inferior, of whom it was pos- 
sible to be ashamed. A refined taste can not be grat- 
ified with rude manners, though gratitude and duty 
join hands. It is not the effect of city association. It 
is the natural repugnance of delicacy to coarseness, even 
though it be only coarseness of manifestation. If the 
whole world lived in scattered houses, all the same the 
trained ear would be pained by rough words, the train- 
ed eye by ungraceful motion, the trained intellect by 
slow perception. Mother, is it for your sons' sake you 
are grinding in the prison-house of drudgery? For 
their sake, if possible, ascend out of it. For their sake, 
if for nothing else, cultivate your mind. Do not bestow 
upon them the pitiable kindness of giving to their as- 
piring young manhood a worn-out drudge for a mother. 
This awful abnegation may be the stern fiat of fate, may 
seem the only resource of love; but whether it be fate 
or choice, at the last it biteth like a serpent, and sting- 
eth like an adder. 

There is no finer life than springs from our rocky 
soil, is nurtured beneath our easily frowning skies. 

Eight miles across country,, past broad, level fields, 
lines of encircling hills paint themselves hazy blue 
against the far noonday sky, or tender transparent pur- 
ple upon the glowing sunset. High and steep they rise 
beneath your climbing feet, but from this western win- 
dow they are but gentle swells in the horizon — but a 
dim, dreary background of the fair, still picture — wood 
and meadow, pleasant cottage, busy men and laboring 
oxen, and over all an enchanted silence. For their 



222 TWELVE MILES FROM A LE2I0N. 

beauty and their guardianship, for their ever-changing 
and their never-changing, I love my hills ; but one among 
them wears a charm and holds a secret of its own. If 
you are riding by on brilliant afternoons, you may see 
the ample folds of a scarlet scarf rising and falling and 
floating from the attic window, and you will think we 
are but airing the woolens from the camphor chest; 
but my hill knows better. Ever he is aware that in his 
veiled and misty depths he shelters a warm human in- 
terest, and that my floating signal, my Scarlet Letter, 
will be read by welcoming eyes, and answered in such 
abounding measure as makes Ten Times One seem 
Twent3^ 

To-day I look upon my hill with peculiar fondness. 
Surely his blue is luminous, he wears his purple royal- 
ly, and this matchless sunshine has woven him a crown 
of glory, for his message to-day is not for me alone, but 
for all the world. Forth from his silent shadows where 
it grew, a little book has stolen into the world, as silver- 
leaved as the abele-tree from which it drew its name, 
but sound and sturdy as my hill that nurtured it to life. 

Touching lightly upon many things, it touches noth- 
ing which it does not adorn. Perhaps not half a dozen 
paragraphs concern themselves with scenery, but, by a 
few bold yet dainty strokes, fall and spring and winter 
rise before you, vivid, real, and recurring. Next to noth- 
ing is said of the " woman cause," but, by " the law of 
indirect effort," all women are elevated and ennobled 
through its pages. Its women, positive but not opin- 
ionated, gracious without manner, influenced but not 
driven by ideas, hospitable to thought but open also to 



COUNTRY CHARACTER. 223 

sentiment, informed but not domineering, equally large- 
hearted and large-minded — bow quietly, harmoniously, 
successfully, if indirectly, tbey work upon tbe men who 
seek their small home circle ! Opposing convictions are 
not "wanting, but they do not monopolize the field, and 
even opposing prejudices war you gentl}'', though war 
they must, being prejudices. In that narrow but inde- 
pendent and intelligent home, it is no question of ma- 
tron or maiden ; but women stand as they should stand, 
sovereign by virtue of their unrepressed womanhood, 
cultivated, dignified, free — necessarily, therefore, magnet- 
ic and influential. In language the book is singularly 
choice and elegant. It shows the result of culture and 
not — more perhaps than needs must in our country — 
the process of culture. The sentences are agreeable, 
even striking, for their structure, as well as impressive 
for substance. The characterization is delicate but defi- 
nite, the conversation flexible and natural, the thought 
subtle, precise, and not unfrequently deep, the temper, 
ah, me! always perfect. There is humor, too, that 
shines, and also smiles, a satire as sharp as if it were not 
playful, a criticism none the less keen for being good- 
natured, and sometimes an honest, direct, and wholesome 
indignation. Here, in dignified and eloquent words, a 
daughter of the country presents the cause of country 
against city. Never, surely, was the bubble of Brah- 
manism more deftly blown into nothingness ; never, sure- 
ly, were the "clumsy and the countrified" more nobly 
nor so much defended as dismissed from the attitude of 
defense. Never was refined snobbery cloven by a finer 
and keener sword. Without flattering ignorance, never 



22-4 TWKl.VK MILKS Flx'OM A l.K.WOX. 

paiuloriiii;" to ooarscnoss, llio consor oxtrnots iVotn sootVs 
their stiiiii", ami turns it^ j^olitclv, but with an all-[HMio- 
1 rating point, ujhmi llio sci>t\ors. That which aK)nr con- 
t>tilutcsthc nobility olMoniooraoy is lairly, proudly, ami 
victoriously sot against that which alone makes aristoc- 
racy ignoble. 

1 like to think that a woman - little known — has been 
listening in her ''saintly sv^lilude'' to the world's voices 
sounding near and far, loud or low ; that in her soul, si- 
lently, without aim, thoughts have been r(Wolving, eon- 
elusions maturing, eonvietions deepening, imjHilsetpiiek- 
ening, till all this mental slir (bund overllow and elian- 
nel to the world. A book nuiy be an aeeivlent. Cir- 
cumstances, change, a thousand slight modilieations of 
life may previMit- the still, small voiee iVom speaking be- 
yond the sphere of home listeners; but it is pleasant to 
feel that over all the country, unknown to fame or even 
to society, mav be such listeners, such observers, such 
possible talkers- Curls of the Period, who will keep the 
Period sweet and bear it wi41 aloft; women who discern 
and discriminate, and eahnly, despite all clanuu" and 
heat, deal just judgment, and show us how divine a 
thing a woman nuiy be made. 

At the beu'inning of our last ami greatest revolution- 
ary war, among the thousands oflS'orthern families that 
rose up, filled and fired with the inspiration oi' loyalty, 
was one consisting of father, nuWher, ami three promis- 
ing sons. The father was smitten with an incurable 
disease. No strength of his ebbing life could be Hung 
into the breach to stay that destruction which threatened 
the nation; but not his mortal weakness nor his death- 



coll NT UY aUAUAdTEU. 225 

hjii^-Miig lor (](;:ir f;u;cs should IioM hiick liiM sons. Tlio 
youngCHl w;iH too yoiiiif.^; but. tin; oldest was oi'lit age, 
II Ktrorig, beaiitif'id young man, in tlio first (lush <;(' (toii- 
KcioiiH ))ow(!i', I'lill of (;iitliusiasin, full of liopc, high-prin- 
cipled, liiglidi(;arl<;d, rcsoliiti;. Swill a,nd terrible was 
his Koldi(;r'H niareii to the grave, lie onnst(;d in .June, 
18(>1, rnshed iiiUj th(; foremost of the fight, was taken 
prisoner by tlie, |{,ebels, and for (;iir' country's and our 
countryrnon'H sake, for our own lion(jr's Hak(;, would we 
could Ibrget tliat such thiiigH ever liupj)cned ; but ti-iitli 
is greater than all,a,nd wo must remember that he was 
fitarved to death in a ilelKd [)rison. 'I'o liis lainily — and 
this was only one among thousands of su<;h I'amilleH, 
this f'earf'ul event seemed but to call Ibr anolh(;r soldier. 
They Jiever dreamed of lj(;ing daunted, Ijut rose up to 
a still greater sacrifice, 'J'he dead scju'h place must be 
made goo(]. 'JMic second boy must go, "^^riiat was the 
thing to be done, not to be talked about. ^JMic boy was . 
ready. '^JMie father and mother were not unready. lie 
enlisted, did valiant service till his health entirely failed, 
was j)laced on the siek-list till it became evid(;nt that 
lie never would be abh; to d(; S(;ldier's duty again, when 
he was finally and honorably discharged. His health 
and his tinu; he had gladly giv<;n to his country, and 
regretted that he had no niore to give; nor did Ik) (;vt-'r 
seek reward or recogniti<;n. 

r>ut now the third and last, th(; young IJcnjamin, had 
grown to be (iightee-n, stalwart, and brave, and loyal, like 
liis l)rothers, and the family must be represented in the 
Aririy (jf the Itcpublie, They had so)'(; need <jf him at 
liome, ^i'iie slowly dying husband an(l fiither, the dis- 



•j'_>(,; yuAv. 17; Mii.Ks ruoM .1 ij\io.\. 

aUlod son, tho boivavod mothor oIoiwihI longingly and 
lovingly to this last strong staiV of thoir woaknoss, but 
the country's n^H\l was soro. and thoy gavo him nj\ 1 
onn not say gladly, but oalndy. without ooiuplaiut or 
avio, liko An\orii'ans. Whilo in camp i\o t'rll ill with 
tvphvMd t'ovor. 'riioso ol" us who hnvo over boon in tho 
oamp hospitals know how droadlul was tho situation 
to a homo-anvlinolhordoving boy, ovon with all tho al- 
loviations whioh soionoo and lovo oould bring. 

In tho story-books, proud ladios llnd thoir disoardod 
lovors lying woundod and siok. :\\\d tho situation bo- 
eonios inunodiatv^ly dramatio and sontimontal ; but, whon 
1 thiid; ofthoso hospitals, I think always of long, droary 
rooms lull of light, and llios. at\d smoU. and hoavy-oyod, 
sutVoriug mon, and tho droad aiul lu^judossnoss of it 
brood ovor mo al'tor all thoso yoars with soarooly a lilV 
ing o( tho shadvnv. To suoh a plaoo oan\o tho young 
Honjamin ; but thoro a lady tbund him, a iViond of his 
mother's, and took him tVom tho hospital to her own 
liouse, sent lor his mother, and employed her own }>hy- 
sieian to attend him. This was not exaotly liold serv- 
ioe. but surely no goi\oral ovor aeconiplished a desi- 
rable end by wiser and nivuv eiVteiont moans than this 
loyal lady. His mother remained with him till he was 
convalosoent, j^aid all his bills. at\d as .>^oon as ho was 
able carried him Iumuo. There the most skilll\il phy- 
sician of tho vioinity was engaged ; and tho mon\ent that 
gentleman prouiMinood him well enough to make tho 
journey with safety, his nnolo, a member ol" the llouso 
o[' Ixcprcsentatives. and subsei|uently an olVioer in -tho 
army, oarriovl him to the ('ouii-al Hospital at tho State 



fOIINTUy HIIAKAHThUl. 227 

(y';i.f)it.ol. 'i'lion; iJify Irai/ici, to tficir (iiHinriy, Uiut r<';/.- 
////v o/ //.«« phyHldariJi Imd, rcporl,'.'/, hii/i,^ n.\A cofiHoquontly 
Ji(; wuH n;conJ<;'l a dcjicrkrl 

'Vo Um; Ht-ill f'cfiblc youn^^ man UiiH wan u torriblo 
blow. 'I'o t,li(; lii;'li, HtuirilcHH Houl, the very l^rcalJi, Uk; 
Hfiufiow, Uio l,}ioii;.'lil/ orKliarnc wjih inlol';ral;lo. 1 1 in a;,^- 
ony wuM aciiU; and intoiiHr;, but \\(; aii'i liin un(;l<; w<;n; 
aKHun;'i in til'; vXvdW'/j-.'.'X V-iJiiH tliat liin record hIionM l^'; 
rnado ri;.'lit, and tho latter ujilia.f»pily 'Jefjarted wittiout 
Hcoirig in [>crHon that tfic vital tliin;;^ wan (Jone. 

UnuHHunid, but iiridaunUjd, with only one pnrpoHC 
and one aHjmation, U) Hervc and Have \i\h country, the 
young man l/;ok liin place in the rankn, fought a good 
figlit, wofj tlie name at all tirncH and in all phiC<;H of a 
good H<;KJior, and laid down hin grand young life at lant, 
in the high tide of battle ori the deciwive field ofCiettyw- 
hurg. 

And never in all thcHC yearn lirxH tlie cloud been lifuid 
from that noble family. Never did the now widowed 
mother, never did the heroio Hon receive aught of pen- 
«ion or j^ay, for never — oli, crowning grief I wan the 
falHC record correctr;d, and lie, patriot, fjcro, martyr, wm 
written flown a de'H(;rt^;r of tlie caune to which lie had 
given all ! 

At laHt Home friendly j^erHon took up the rnatt^;r in 
behalf of the Ktrieken mother, and afV;r careful iriven- 
iigation learned that tlie trouble fuol^ably had arJHcn 
from a rniHtake in reading for the name of hin native 
village another village foiir timcH hh far off from head- 
quarterH, and at a diHtanee t^j which it waH Haid lie Jia^l 
no right U) go, and to wliich lie never did go, ''{'hin 



228 'HVKLVJ-J MILA'S FA'OM A J.KMOX. 

gentleman \vi-ote to an onicer of the Govcrnniont in 
Washington, stating tUc facts, and saying, with a simple 
trnst in the right which Heaven grant our Government 
may never shame: "I'lease get the record righted, and 
communicate the fact to me, and 1 will at once inform 

Mrs. , who will be much more gratilied that her 

son's name stands right than she will to receive the 
money due him." 

By a little gentle pressure in the right spot, the 
mighty wheel ceased rolling, the great Government 
paused, repaired the wrong wrought so long ago, cor- 
rected the lying record, lifted the dead soldiers name 
into the light that should encircle it, and gave to the 
mourning mother the desire of her heart, the sole solace 
that remains to her for her beloved and honored dead. 



AUTUMN VOW EH. 229 



XI ir. 
AUTUMN VOICES. 

The melancholy days arc come, the saddest of the 
year, when the Old Coal Man starts on his periodical 
round of travel through the newspapers. Patient and 
provident housekeepers, whose lives are already a bur- 
den to thern by reason of the wastefulness of servants, 
are now, through the precession of the equinoxes, ap- 
proaching the phico where they will be told for the scv- 
cnty-times-seventieth time that America is the land of 
extravagance; that our forests are disappearing before 
the woodman's axe, and our coal-mines hollowing into 
emptiness beneath the miner's spade; that European 
families buy v^^ood by the pound, and old coal burns 
amaist as weel's the new ; and if you, sweet Cinderella, 
will but sift and pick and rinse, smother yourself in 
ashes, and burrow in your cellar with sufficient assidui- 
ty, you will save your country from a fire famine, and 
doubtless at last reach a point where fresh coal will be 
no more requisite, but you may burn on and on from a 
self-supplying bin, forever spent, renewed forever. 

Dear and long-suffering Cinderella, be not deceived. 
Shake the ashes from your hair, scrub off the crock 
from your poor hands, turn a deaf ear to the wretched 
man, and while the sun is not yet cold in the heavens, 
and these birds of ill omen have only piped the first 



230 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

feeble note of their harsh discord, h'sten to one who 
knows more about it than a regiment of newspaper the- 
orists. 

Marry come up, now. Old Coal Man, and be yourself 
sifted! Let us see what is grain and what is chaff in 
your profuse advice. You give minute, specific, and 
long-drawn-out directions for the management of range 
and stove and furnace, by following which the heat 
shall be regulated, waste prevented, and expenses re- 
duced. In the first place. Old Coal Man, permit me to 
say, with what "sweetness and light" may be, but at 
any rate with explicitness, that I, for one, do not half 
believe you. I speak from the point of sight of a prac- 
tical experimenter who has spent a large part of his life 
in coal cellars, who has tried most of the furnaces in 
this country, and has reflected deeply on the rest. 
" Leave this little door open," says Father M'Gee, " as 
soon as your fire is well started, and the coal will last 
all day." " Put your coal into this cylinder," says the 
base-burner, " and it feeds itself down as it is wanted, 
and only as it is wanted, and you need hardly look at 
your fire from morning to morning." "Spread your 
old coal on the top of your new coal," says Penny 
"Wise, "and the moderated heat will be all-sufficient." 
"Slide in this little damper," saj's Pound Foolish, "and 
the heat which the world has hitherto dissipated to the 
skies will be diffused through j^our house." And with 
servile fidelity have I shut all the doors, and opened all 
the registers, and slid all the slides of the furnaces and 
the funnels thereunto appertaining, and the conclusion 
of the whole matter is that vou can not have fire with- 



AurmiN VOICES. 231 

out fuel. The price of comfort is an eternal supply of 
coal. If your object is simply to keep a fire alive, you 
can do so at a very small outlay ; but if it is to keep 
yourself alive through our rigorous Northern winters, I 
know no way of doing it but to burn out your bins. 

Granting, however, that you have found a royal road 
to warmth, does it certainly follow that it would be 
worth our while to travel it? Even supposing 3^our 
directions, if complied with, would reduce the consump- 
tion of coal, is it at all certain that they would not re- 
quire the consumption of something more valuable than 
coal ? For in this world, at least in this part of it, one 
can live rationally only by a comparison of values. 
Our servants mostly know how to make coal fires. 
Very likely they do it after a clumsy and costly fash- 
ion, and keep up their fires by an unwise and unneces- 
sary method. The good housekeeper instructs them in 
the more excellent way, but, unless she constantly min- 
isters at the altar herself, the probability is that the 
flame will immediately return to its costliest sacrifice, 
and lap up far more than its legitimate food. The good 
housekeeper knows this — has a constant, aching sense 
of it ; but her husband, her children, her house, her 
books, her friends, make incessant demands upon her 
time, and, after a few strenuous efforts on her part, 
Providence mercifully vouchsafes to her a life-preserv- 
ing apathy, broken only by an occasional pang when 
she catches a glimpse of the rapidly lowering coal bin 
and the rapidly heightening coal bills. And just at 
this moment of all moments, when we might have 
peace, you, miserable, must needs come clattering in 



/•|)A7. IT'.' .l///./:.S' /V.N).!/ .1 i.hwtoy. 



Willi vour cKwriMiiii;', iliii t)l" oKl coal and i-riMioinv, ami 
rolognlo I'vory thin"; 1^* uiu>asiiu>ss. not lo say itMiiorso. 
AwMV wilh you! W'lial boo is this in your honnot, 
niakiii!!, all iho wvmKI unooiul"oi'tablo? Po yt>u moan 
to loll riiulorolla, that il wouKl ho moro iH-onomioal lor 
hor lo toml lior liios juul sa\H> \\cv ooal than lo toml lior 
ohiKlron nml savo lior soul? What, shall il {ifolil. u 
woman if sho i;ain all iho minos ol" lii^hij-h, aiul loso 
lior own tr;uu|uillity o[' toin|HM'? Whollior is it. bott.or 
lo ]^;\v :v I'ow aiKlitional ih>llars oaoh yoar. or to pay out, 
N'lMir tinu^ anil palionoo oaoh day in |>awin_!M>\ or a hoap 
of ashes? For this is what, it. ainouiils to. It is not, 
in most oasos, a. o[iu>slioii botwoiMi oaroloss ami I'aroful 
suiHM'vision, botwoiMi wanloii nn-kK'ssiioss and wiso jmmi- 
iloiK'o, botwoon a i'onsoionlions and an unpriiioiplod 
woman. It is wholhor a soru|Milous Christian, an al- 
ready v>vorbui'vlonod wil'o and moihoi-. shall m\>\loot still 
moro than slu' now is foi^'od to do iho woi",hlior mathM's 
ol' iho law. and !.!,ivo Ium- at tout ion to pavin;', wilh aoiMira 
ey and prompt noss, th(> liilu^s (ifminl. anis(>, and oiimmiu. 
I>ovond iho obli;';alioii whioh wi' aro all uiuKu' to re- 
tpiiro, sv) tar as j)raotioabli\ thorough worU iVom our 
workmen, and to give faithrul stM'viee lo our (Mujiloyers, 
that it. is a. i!;r(>at deal wiser and moro «\'onomi('al to 
lot the tiro oonsumo a little extra oivil than il is to 
tiirow our invii j>oaoo o[' mind into il for the saki- o[' 
keeping' it dinvn. Waste is hat("l'ul to {\o<.\ and man; 
but if waste tluMo must be, let it be ol" the ehoaper ami 
not the eostliiM' material. 'Plie worst waste is the waslo 
ol' tlu* luMlor ill pursiiil, of the moaner. Life is moi\^ 
than anthraoilo, .and llu^ body than seasoned oak. 



AUTUMN VOK'HS. 2,"„'> 

^I'o lioM lip [\)\'v'\^^'\\ w.'iys ;i,L^;iiiisl, oiM's is iilicrly I'liiih!. 
1^'jllfOpC li;i.S lilllc v\)\\\ ;ili(l Iiiiicli pcojilc. \\ {'. li;iv(l 
■wiclcvstrctchiiig coal-f'uililH ;iii<l ;i, sp;ii:-ic, pitpul.'iiKui. A, 
wotriiin wilJi !i (lo/cii HCi'vaiiLs lo do lli<; (lo/.cii (liClrrcnl, 
kinds ()(' work' can |)(!rliaj)S jdloi'd l.o Ixiiii a, rindcr a, 
(l()/<'ii l.iincs ()V(M' Ixd'on; callin'.^ it, aslics. IJul, our wom- 
en, liavinjL^ luiicli ol' lliu hand- wofk and most of t,liu 
brain-work to do tliornsolvoH, rniiHt diHcriininal,(3 botw(!(Mi 
tlic. dul/ics llial can he (hdc/zatiMl and lliosc lJi;i,L ca,n noL. 
Siircily, wiUi our iniincnso coal-niincjs Hlorcd np (or ^';cn- 
(M'ations, and our society st.ill crnde, and our cliildrtiri 
wlio can nol, vva,il-, iJie elioice ol" duties i,; not, dilliiadt,. 
Is she a wis(! and econotnicaJ woman wlio, when her 
chihh-cii ask (or .sl,()i-i(!H, (or pheasant talk', [ov a sw(;el- 
f'ae('d, ;..';(;ii lie- voiced molJicr, lioMsont, l.o tJieni, in jnimy 
hands, a hit, oC l)it,uiiicn 7 

And when you pr(!scnl, hlnropeiin {economies Cor our 
(unuk'djon, what, do yon menn? 'I'li;it, w«! sli.all he hen- 
cfil-ed hy cornpassin^ their' residts? Look. ',x\, some of 
these cconornicaJ Cont,inent,aI (i resides (dost; at, hand : 

"Keeping no (in; witJiin doors," says I Iawt,horn(!, 
" cxccf)!; possibly a s[)ark or t,wo in the kit,ch(ai ; thc^y 
[t,he H,omans| cr(!pt out, of \\u{\v elKuirless houses irilo 
the narrow, HunlcHS, sepidehr;d st,reet,s, bringing tlic firc- 
HldcH along with them in t,he ;-;h;i|)(! of little ea,rtlK!n 
pots, vases, or pipk'ins, full (>[' li;dit,ed elia,rcoal or warm 
ashos, over whi(;li they hold their tingling fingc.T-end.s. 

'rhrf)Ugh the open door-ways — no need to shut 

them wluiu the W(!ather within was bleaker tliati with- 
out — fi glirn[)SO into tlio intciior of lli('ir dwellings 
showed the uncar[)eted brick' floors, as dismal as the 



28-4 v'nv.v-r/v mii.ks rh'OM a i.kmon. 

pavciiiont of :i tomb In Now l*]iii;l:uul, or in llus- 

sia, or scarcely in a, \\\\l of llu^ l*ls(|niinaux, thci'c is no 
such tliscoinl'oil to be borne as by .Romans iu winUy 

weallier Wherever we jiass our summers, may all 

our inclement months, Irom November to April, hence- 
forth bo spent in some country that recognizes winter 
as an integral portion of its year!" 

Is lliis a j)leasing })ieture to eonUMuplate? Would 
the Old Coal Man like to exchange tnir extravagant 
liearth-stones and I'urnaees lor the snug, saving ilre-pot 
on a ]{oman sidewalk? Or shall the lire continue to 
roar, somewhat su]H>rlliiously lUMliaps, yet with a heart- 
some and hospitable glow withal? 

^'our dissolving views of our forests and our mines 
are not in the least- appalling. (\o(\ will not lt\ive his 
worlil out in the cold until its ap}>t)inted time is come, 
and that day will not be }H\stponetl though we spend 
our lives in ]iiling wc>od. C\>al eauie into use long be- 
fore wood gave out; and by the time we get lo the end 
of our coal-mines, (X'.ean, aii", and sunshine will be ready 
to give up the heat whieh is in them for o\w eheer. 
Oil-wells sjiouted long before whales had ceased lo 
S})out. We had been bemoaning our droughts, lo I 
tliese many years, and wise men of the East said it was 
because we had so ruthlessly felled our forests, and, un- 
less we )>lanled trees again, seed-time and harvest would 
fail for want of I'ain. Then came a most beautiful and 
bountiful sunnniM', lUled our tanks and cisterns, fed our 
fountains. Hooded our meadows, drowned our cranber- 
ries, washed out our salt hay, and soaked our rowen 
into muleh, and how can our sava)\(s keep their lieadd 



AUTCMN VOICKS. '2.^5 

jibovo water? Vox some reason, wo were lold, the cli- 
mate ol' the earth was ehaii<^iii<:^ — ghieial cold was coin- 
in,!^ ui)()n us, and the earth was .tiM'adually ("rccziiig down 
iVoin the north pole. Now if any there bo who have 
not felt this tlieoiy thoroughly thawed out of tluim by 
the fervent iieat ol'oui- all too swiftly (lown midsummer 
months, let him hear what Daniel Di'aper saith from 
his (lyi'io in the Central I'ai'k of the Univ(M'se. After a 
careful eompai'ison of the most reliable records for the 
j)ast sev(!nty-six years, he eom(\s to the conclusion that, 
"both as regartls rain-fall and winter climate, thei'c litis 
b(>(Mi no chango in tho lapse of many years." 

Suie(\'ise, Old (/oal Man, your evil speaking and cause- 
less whining. Oiii- mines of coal shall not waste nor 
our wells of oil fail till the da,y that tlu; Ijofd revcalotli 
something olso in tho earth to burn. Meanwhile, come 
down into our ash-hcap, if you will, and cjuw among tho 
clinkers to your heart's content,. There ai'e ])l(!nty of 
thorn, and slato to bo liad for tho asking, and doubtless 
soot as the sands of tho sea ; or descend betimes to your 
own furnace shrine, and win your own household down 
by your merry moi-ning song: 

"(!oino into tlio ('C!lliir, Miiud, 

I'^or tlic black but, iiiK'it, biiH down ; 
(!omo into the cellar, Maud — 

It'H jjoky down licic nloiic, 
And tlio fuinoH of tho coal gas arc wiiflcd iiinoiiii, 

And liic (ii'o in almost ^one." 

But for Maud herself, and for all busy and virtuous 
women. Heaven grant them grace never to believe that 
any necromaney or inachinations whatever can make in 



236 T\yi:iA'hJ mii.ks fuom a lemon. 

our aslies glow their wonted fires, and firmness to stay 
above-ground and keep the woi'ld sane anil sweet! 

Sometimes it seems as disastrous to be a good house- 
keeper as a poor one. It is just as bad to be a better 
housekeeper than there is any eall foi-, as it is to be a 
poorer liousekeeper than there is any justilleation for. 
There arc ]>lenty to exact perfection in all household 
machinery. If i could induce women to be willing to 
be poor housekeejieivs when, through their jioverty, life 
could be made rich, I should feel that I had not lived 
in vain. 

There are, no doubt, reckless, brainless, wasteful, un- 
principled women who bring ruin into a man's heart 
and home. Such women need no exhortation to a wise 
negligence, nor, indeed, can they profit by exhortation 
to wise thrift. It is of no use to admonish them one 
way or the other. Tliey may extract, even from mora! 
words, encouragement for their folly ; but they would 
be foolish just the same, whether they had encourage- 
ment or not. There is nothing to be done with them 
but to make the most you can of this life, notwithstand- 
ing the wounds they deal, and to look forward with 
liopc to a fresh start in another and a better MH)rld. 
]5ut these women ai'c a small minoi'ity. Female Amer- 
ica is, in the main, conscientious, disjiosed to be frugal, 
and to do its full jiart in building \\\^ the family for- 
tunes. To my observation, women err through being 
too careful and troubled about many things, rather than 
in not being cai'cful and "particular " enough. They 
look too well to the ways of their household, and do 
not eat so much of the bread of idleness as would be 



AUTUMN VOKJKS. 237 

good for tlicm, 'Way need to bo cncourngcd to " let 
things go," nitlier than be exhorted to "look after 
things." When some troubled teacher tells us that a 
French family will live luxuriously and keep boarders 
off what an American family throws away, patient 
Griselda feels admonished to renewed and still more 
scrutinizing pursuit of every morsel of meat from the 
moment when it leaves the butcher's stall till it is set 
on her overflowing table; nor even thence shall the iUn- 
jecLa membra be permitted to depart in peace, but must 
be followed to their final classification and de})Osit in 
the frying-pan or soap jar, lest some atom be [)i'emature- 
ly dcdected to pig-[)en or poultiy-yard, and so the har- 
mony of the universe disturbed. 

Ikit the overwhelming probability is that Gi'iselda 
already gives quite its due share of time and thought to 
the salvage of scraps. She may or may not make as 
much out of a shin-bone as a Frenchwoman would ; but 
in our happy country shin-bones arc many and sirloin 
steaks not few, and it is a question whether energy and 
ingenuity may not be better expended than in wrest- 
ing the last fibre of nutriment fi'om a dismantled bone. 
Must is a word from which there is no appeal ; but 
where there is freedom of choice, let us remember the 
great army of dogs and cats wiiich is glad to feed upon 
the crumbs that fall from our tables; and if the ma- 
nipulation of fragments into viands seems likely to cost 
more than it would come to, let us not be deterred 
from comforting our dumb brethren therewith by any 
fears of foreign comparisons. 

Economy is a divine law. No amount of wealth jus- 



288 T\yi:i.yi-: .miij:s fuom a /./m/o.v. 

tilios \v;is!o. A luiui (.'im iu>vor br si> vwh :\s to jilVord 
WMiitou iwpoiuliluro. Tlu' " man o{' nutans" is uinlcr 
just, jis stnnig boiuls \o ,s]hmh1 his iuoiu>y \Yisol_y as the 
man of "limited iiieome." All the toachini;" that u 
woman can j'.ive lu-r sciAanIs she out;lit to give them, 
tor lluMT sake ami her own. They totioh her sj)here, 
ami she is responsible lor all the va^ood she ean do them. 
JMit it is m>|. liei- i\\\\\ to saerillee to tlieir teai'hini;" a 
higher ^x^okhI. She has duties more strenuous than in- 
euleating oeonomv, far more strenuous, in most eases, 
than the saving of moiu>\'. To eeonomi;:e at the cost 
of making \\ov family uneomfortable, or of destroying 
tlu' I'lastieitv »>!" hiu- mind and the buoyauey of her spir- 
its with tlu^ burden tM" details, is not thrifty. 

Mature is siMuetimes jiroiligiously wasteful, lo all ap- 
pea ranee, yet, she is strielly ei'onomii-al, since not ouly 
IS no force and no sid>stance really lost, but. the seein- 
inj'ly (^\lrava_;',ant expiMulilure is really the smalli\st. 
that would certainly .secure the desired cud. Myi'iads 
o[' blc»ssoms bear no fruit, but they gladden the eye, and, 
on the whoK>, makin;;- all jirovision foi' failures, there 
are, iloubtless, no more than .are necessary lo keep up 
the siipply. Nature surely believes that a largo margin 
is tlu^ truest economv. 

I'lics are not a desirable adjunct to luMisekeeping, 
and the ideal lunisekeeper will .set iier face like a llii\t 
against them, re!\ardK>ss (W" my innocent remarks. Nor 
have I the smallest symjiathy with that misplaced mas- 
culine tender heartedni\ss which lorbids the use of the 
sticky tly traps because they make the tly unconUbrta- 
ble. v>r the ]>oisonpaper because it disagrees with llu> 



AtrniMN VOICE'S. 289 

(ly's coiisliUiUoii. Wlit'ii :i lly cdiiics iiiLo liiiiii:i.ii li.-ihi- 
tiitioii, ho tiik't'H liin lilis in lii.s IiuiuIh, and if liilc Kwill- 
ly tiikcH il, oiil iigaiu, thai, is his own all'air. I'nt, why 
!sh(;ill(l we. niako Ilioi'f! ado l-o |»iit, Uk; lly oiil iJian he, 
rnukcH by comin;?; in? Wliy ;;lionld LIh; .sweep of his 
wingH in parlor or (linin;';-rooni ix; Uio .si/.Mial lor u mid- 
den paiiHo in talk, a rn.sli (or towels, a vigonjUH on- 
Hhmght, and a vindie.iive .slanyJiterV Mxtrcnio iiiHtid- 
iouHncHH is u greater nuisance than Hies. 'J'horo aro 
women who oiigiit to be bonnd over to \\k\v.\) the j)(!ae(!. 
])otneHtio haj)pincSH, social ord(!r, and the whoh; lahrif; 
ol'civili/ed life ought not to be at the ni(;rey of a lly; 
jind Kince you ean not always eateh the lly, th(!re in 
notJiin;-; loi- it but to eateh the women. When 1 K(;o 
)K!oj)le devoting tlieir minds to, and disturbing the uni- 
V(!rs(! foi', th(! ex[)ulsion of a harndess wandering way- 
larei-, 1 am nioveil to say that I like (lies, 'i'hey are a 
busy and a ehe(;ry Iblk, wctll worthy oC study, and eapa 
blcj (jC rewa,r(ling an inl,elligent euriosity. I remember 
onee sj)ending a, whoh; Sunday a('t<!inoon in watching 
one with great int(!r(!sl-, and, I trust, not without prolit. 
How (!ould Mr. ^riuiodoi'e 'I'ilton hav<5 written that 
charming lyric, beyinning, 

" IliiNy IJy(!, 
ll(M(!'n II (I}' : 
Lcl, iiH wiihli liiin, joii :iiiil I," 

if a 7'igid domestic discipline had been ])rought to l)car 
oil the immortal little guest the moment lie af)peared 
in sight? Certaitdy it was with a f)ositive HatisCactioii 
that 1 ])(!rcoiv(!d one day on what a Criendly looting 
stood tlic> flics with a certain a'M'eeablc and refined (am- 



240 



TWK'l.Vh' Mll.KS /•7,'(>.\/ .1 /.A1/().V. 



ily o[' u\\ ;u'4Uaiiit;uu'o. Tlio wimlows wrro tliro\vi\ 
wide opon, aiul with tlio sotMit oi' lioiiovsiu'klo niul llio 
song ol" binls i-niuo in, too, tlic busy, oontontod, {M'i>- 
O0C11}Mi.h1 tribe, aiUliii^;' tinMi- blillio bii;-.;-. to tljo suin- 
luor's inlinito Imrmoiiy. It brspoko a laruo ami lavish 
hospitality, a goiuM\nis sympathy, a iiiiisoii Nvith na- 
ture, a tVoodom iVoin potty ami ilotofioi'ating anxiotii's 
whioh promises well tor the future an*! the human- 
ities. 

'I'he worKl is I'uU ot" wasps. There are lour erawl- 
ing over the winilow shade, halt" a do/.en more sunning 
thotnselves on the glass, two or three ereejnng out o{' 
the curtain foUls. In I'aet, you ean not stir any thing 
without ilislurbing a wasp, (hitiloors their bu;-.;-. is in- 
eessant. The sunny south angle is alive with their fuss- 
ing aiul fuming. ^Vhere they Knlge no t>ne ean liml 
out. This morning', behind a elosed south blind, a eol- 
ony o[' them was tbund hanging to the window-sash 
outside. They were gathered in a elo.se t'luster, as if 
they had elubbed together to keep warm; and perhaps 
they had, lor they .seem to be a slow, cold-blooded race. 
A Ily is swil'i, active, continually busy. He moves as 
if he had an object in life, as it' he had taken out a. 
contract, and were paid by the Job; but a wasp crawls 
around sluggishly, as it' he were not going anywhere 
ii> particular, and did not much care whether he got 
there or not. So he stops midway, and tries to start up 
his torpid liver by a sun-bath; but miilway is far from 
being the safe way for him. It is Just there, r^>llectivo 
and iunmnable, that the newspaper or the wet tinvel 
comes slap down on him like a thousand avalanches; 



AUTUMN VOICI'JS. 241 

and it is only when the newKpai)er and wot towel have 
missed fire, have startled without Htunning him, that 
he sliowsany agility in walking. With sueh incentiveH 
to exertion, 1 have seen a wasp in a hurry, ti[)toeing 
frantically along, witli wings upstretched, like lilondin 
on his tight ro[je; but ordinarily he comes as Lady 
Geraldine went to Mr. Hertrurn after ho liad h;i,ir recov- 
ered from his dead fUint, 

" lOvcr, (;vi;r iiiorrj tin; while in a tUiw Hiiencc." 

Wasps have the credit or discredit of beirig an irri- 
table race, stinging on the slightest [)rovocation. That 
may be, but our wa;-;pH arc f;vidcutly a bcttcr-bred tt\)Q- 
cies, as they have slung no one yet, though they have 
bad every excuse for doing so. Wet cloths have Ijccn 
slung at them, death has menaced them at the }>rusli 
end of the broom, scalding water lias been the slightest 
of their provocations, the duster has restricted them to 
the dust-pan till the burning fif;ry (urnaec ingulfed them 
to a swift and, we trust, an almost painless departure 
from a terrified world, yet through it all they have nev- 
er pushed one sting. But as the poor invalid, who was 
woefully disturbcfl by the cock crowing, remarked to 
chanticleer's owner, who afiirrned that he never crowed 
more than half'a dozen times of a morning, "You think 
of what I sufier when he crows; you do not count what 
1 suffer from the feeling that*he is going to crow!" — as 
Prcscott, the historian, says of the reign of terror in the 
Netherlands under the Inquisition and i'hilip 11., "The 
amount of suff(jring from suc?i a persecution is not to 
be estimated merely by the number of those who have 

It 



242 TWJSLVH MILES FBOM A LEMON. 

actually suffered death, when the fear of death hung 
like a naked sword over every man's head ;" so the 
reason why wasps are a nuisance is not the amount 
of physical pain but mental discomfort that they cause 
you. As in monetary circles, they create a panic by 
destroying confidence. So while the busy, friendly flies 
we poison with sugared water, tenderly, as if we loved 
them, at the wasps, equally harmless, but with harmful 
possibilities, we go out as against a foe, with deadly 
weapons and fierce, relentless hostility. 

The gravel-walk before the front door has been hon- 
ey-combed with holes, some of which on investigation 
proved to be three or four inches deep — as deep as the 
point of your sun-umbrella, A little winged beast, 
black and vermilion, with two curved sickles on his 
head, made the holes by vigorous digging. What was 
the name of the little horned beast, or what he was up 
to, I do not know, not being sufficiently well-read in 
natural history ; but he spent a good deal of time in the 
hole, and seemed to be very busy when he was out 
of it. I watched several days. Had there been but 
a single pair, I should have perhaps eclipsed Thoreau 
for waiting, and Pliny for discovering, but they came 
in hordes; they seemed determined to monopolize the 
walk. Every time you stepped out-of-doors the air was 
alive and angry with a swarm of spiteful, vicious, ver- 
milion little vixens buzzing about your ears. So one 
sunny morning I sat on the door-step, and as soon as 
a fiery imp went down into his gallery I poked the 
gravel on him with my parasol, till every house within 
reach had caved in. The others somehow got wind of 



AUTUMN VOICES. 243 

it, and they all went away. If they are an absolutely 
harmless tribe, I am sorry I did it, but no doubt there 
are plenty more, and they must learn to colonize on 
land that has not already been pre-empted. 

Eesting on a rock by the road-side one afternoon, we 
noticed a little fellow something like a beetle, but ap- 
parently not a beetle, digging away for dear life. He 
was making a hole, and he worked at it with a very 
comical energy. His slender little claws — antennas, or 
whatever you call them — made the dirt fly, and when 
the heap was so large as to obstruct the entrance to his 
gallery, he leveled it with admirable swiftness and skill. 
Sometimes he went in head first and pawed, and some- 
times he went in tail first and shoved. The size of the 
pebbles which he lugged out was surprising — one you 
could not get into a number seven thimble — and the 
persistence with which he tugged and toiled over his 
load was amazing. When the gallery was apparently 
finished he flew awa3^ Soon a wriggling was observed 
in the grass two or three yards off, and there appeared 
our bonnie bug riding a big brown locust three or four 
times as long as himself. This locust proved, however, 
to be dead or very much demoralized. The bug was 
striding his neck, and dragging him along by main 
force. When within a foot and a half of the cavern 
the bug left the locust, ran forward and examined the 
hole, trotted back and forth several times between the 
two, evidently taking measurements with his eye, made 
the excavation a little deeper, dragged up the locust to 
his grave, tilted him over the edge, and shot him in 
head-foremost! As he did not at once wholly disap- 



2-1:1 TWh'LVh' MILKS Fh'O.U A l.l.'MO.y. 

|H>nr, the bui;' Irnpcil in liiiiist'lf, (lr;iu,'p;tMl him down, tlion 
clinibiHl i)nl, shovi'lml in the tliiL npon liini, k';ip(Hl in 
nhcv it, ;uul Ivod it all liown snug unil oloso jiround v\- 
cry i>:irt, till, hy a laborious process, tlu^ hole was coin- 
plcLely aiul ooniiiat'tly HIKhI, the heap of gravel leveled, 
and no sign Jell ol' the bui'ial but a })atcli ol'lVesh earth. 
11" 1 (\)uld have stayed a little longer, 1 suppose 1 should 
liavo seen him })ut up a head-stone with an e})ita})h, but 
I was obliged to go. It was as interesting a dis])lay of 
skill, persistence, and activity as one often witnesses; 
un(i I should very much like to know whether it was a 
foe that lu> was burying, or footl that he w'as salting 
down for winter. 

Some pestilent fellows lately |M'ostiluted our agricul- 
tural lairs to the promotion of patches by promising 
premiums to the best memler. And there were not 
wanting foolish virgins to come forward and compete 
i<n' the prize, ^ow 1 ilo not mean to say that a patch 
may not si)metimes be retpiisite and necessary as well 
for tlie body as the stuil ; but tluM'i^ is a great deal oi' 
ilarning and patching and nunuling b(\yonil what is 
whoK>some. AVomen will sometimes darn stockings 
which, as stockings, h:id no right to further t\\istencc. 
'l^rue economy woulil have put the feet into the rag-bag 
and sewcil up the K\gs into dishcloths; and to see a hu- 
man being, capable oi' \o\c and hope and memoi'y and 
Judgment, turn away iVom this great, beautiful world, 
and all the stir and thrill of multiform life, and give it- 
self to ilriving a stujiid little steel crow-bar back and 
lorth through a yawning heel and a dilapidaleil toe 
when whole stockings can bo bought at forty cents a 



AUTUMN V()I(!I<:S. 2'±6 

]);iir, in incliiiiclioly, iiol, lo s:iy cxnspcraliii'^. \V(5 uro 

iiol, l)U<^^S. 

" A lilll(! (iMiiiiii;^ now anil lli(?ii 
Is rclislicd liy llm l>csl, (if iiicii ;" 

nnd tlicro is a nervous iiTiLaLioii which is alhiyeil Ly a 
short and solitary turn at the needle, ;ind thciix; arc; aeci- 
<h;ntH and inctidenls which (huiiaiid a stitch, and wliich 
no rij^ht-rnin(h'.d woman will rcl'iisu; but a protracted 
and repeated darning- a darning on j)iineiple and I'roni 
choice, a premeditated and v:i.iii;j,h)riouH proHtrati(;n be- 
ibro tlio shrine of this little one-csyed desjiot — is a sight 
for gods and men to weej) over, not hold out prizes to! 

1 say again, if a w(;ni;in must, slio must, and that is 
the end oC it; but she often thinks she must when she 
need not. She often darns nnd mends and m.akes over 
what it would be cheaper to thi'ow away — inlinitely 
cheaper, Jis regai'ds time uiid piilieiuu! and hapj)in<!ss, 
wliieh are real values and not dearer in resj)eet of 
money, which ordy repr(\s(;iits value. 

Patient Griselda, do not hit youi' |)atiencc — which in 
right measure and Ibr right j)urp()ses is a divine virtiio 
— degenerate into meanness of s[)irit, insipidity ol' mind, 
poverty of resources, and ae<piicsceiic(! in what is not 
inevitable. Tiifc is short, and its issues iriighty; and 
tluire an? things which ought to b(5 done with ])aiiiHtalv- 
ing, and things that ought to be done slightly, and 
things that ought not to be done at all. SIk! is the wise 
woman and tlu; tinifty houselc(!(>pcr who accurately dis- 
criminat(!S and intelligently chooses the good part which 
shall not be taken away from her. 



246 TWULVH MILES FROM A LEMON. 



XIV. 

ON' SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL 
FREEDOM. 

Why should we be creatures of formula, and not of 
philosophy ? There is a reason under every rule, if we 
would only take the trouble to think it out; and we 
should thereby save ourselves the trouble of remember- 
ing the rule, and other people the trouble arising from 
our forgetting it. Grammar is not an invention. It is 
only a classification of usages. The nominative case 
governs the verb in number and person, not because 
sonie Lindley Murray put on a crown and sceptre and 
said it should, but because he found that when respect- 
able people talk it always does. The rules which regu- 
late parliamentary organization and debate seem to be 
involved, arbitrary, and technical ; but a close investi- 
gation, a thoughtful analysis, a redudio ad ahsurdum, 
shows that they are not woven of red tape, but are laid 
down each one for a definite purpose, and that purpose 
is, without exception, a right and righteous one. This 
rule is to prevent a factious minority from w\asting the 
time in useless delay. That is to prevent a powerful 
and successful majority from overriding the rights of 
the minority. If you study the rules as some students 
learn geometry, by main force of remembering that the 
angle A C D is contained by the sides A C, C D, you are 
in a labyrinth at once. But if you look at the reasons 



SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCLiL FREEDOM. 247 

for the rules, you have a thread to guide you out, even 
•when you do not quite see the path in which you are 
to walk. You can be a rule unto yourself. No man 
— nay, in view of the possibilities of our politics, let us 
say no woman — can be a good parliamentarian unless 
she reads between the lines, and sees that laws are nec- 
essary and effective, as well as that they are. 

I hope this is a sufficiently learned preamble to my lec- 
ture, and will strike terror into those culprits for whom 
it is written — those unthinking, vexatious people who 
fail to answer your letters because you did not give 
them your address! They are the people who will 
never succeed in Congress, because they will be tripped 
up instead of helped on by the rules. They will ac- 
complish little as doctors, because, when bleeding and 
warm water fails, all they can do is draw more blood 
and administer more warm water. They will be wretch- 
ed country dwellers, because they must have the regu- 
lation quantity of straw or they can never make bricks ; 
whereas the ordinary routine of country life is the 
steady production of bricks without straw, making 
without machinery, and mending without tools; 

" Did not give the address." But may not the Chief- 
justice of the United States Supreme Court beassumed 
to know something? If no State is- named in the date 
of your letter, is it not always understood that you are 
in the same State with the person addressed? If no 
town or city is named, is it not also because you are in 
the same with your correspondent ? By a parity of rea- 
soning, does not the date of a ietter always involve the 
address of the person writing it, unless some other ad- 



248 T)YKLyK MILEIS FROM A LEMON. 

dress be given? Or must :i muu nppeiul to bis date 
ibc statement, " This is where 1 am ?" .No. Jfyou date 
your letter at Vonkers, New ^'ork, and desire au imme- 
diate answer, the whole duly ol" the man to whom you 
write is to send you an answer to Yonkers, New York. 
If, in the mean wliile, you have gone to Omaha, or iT 
your letters need to be sent to Washington Street, No. 
1872, and you have failed to give direetions to that end, 
your blood be on your own head ; but let the answer 
go to Yonkers. 

There is another epistolary sin, of sad import to coun- 
try-folk. My dinner is s})oiled, my beefsteak with 
stuirmg, my snow-pudding, and all my tid-bits must 
waste their sweetness because my expected guest did 
not give me her full address, and has jn-obably not re- 
ceived my summons. She had given it in her previous 
lottei-, whieli loiter, being answered, Nvas immediately 
ilej)osited in the waste-basket; and tlie last letter gave 
only the name of tlie great city in which she, a pilgrim 
and a stranger, was to tariy lor a few nights. AVhere- 
upon T, the philosopher and j>arliamontarian, lay down 
in addition to 

EuLE 1. I'W the person addressed. — The date of a let- 
ter involves the address of its writer. 

KULE 2. J'or the }krso)i irriting. — Let the date oi^ cirri/ 
letter involve the address of the reply. 

Otherwise we must carry npon our backs a burden 
of old letters, or in our brains a heavier burden of 
streets and numbers. And why should you make my 
rustic brain remember No. 879,503 East Ninety-ninth 
Street, between Chester Square and Madison Avenue, 



SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCLiL FREEDOM. 249 

when I am already overwhelmed with the effort to re- 
member to direct my workmen to put a transom win- 
dow over the bath-room door, and two funnel holes in 
the chimney, and a scroll on the portico pillar, and 
make the cistern ten feet deep, and shut up the chick- 
ens every night? Just date your letter, and save to a 
wretched life one item. 

Eevolving these views in my mind, as used ^neas 
and Dido in our school-days, the dinner is eaten and re- 
moved, Malone is departed to the society of her swains, 
and I sit with "Thackeray" in the twilight, when, sud- 
den and shame-faced, in comes my guest ! I am divided 
between welcome and consternation. Here, after all, is 
the fair, sweet face I longed for ; but there, alas ! is the 
empty table; and where is the absent maid? where is 
the savory steak ? where the extraordinary pudding and 
the coagulated gravy — where? 

" So you did get my letter in spite of the lack of 
street and number?" 

" Yes, it came duly ; but I misunderstood the direc- 
tions. You said the four o'clock train, and I thought 
you meant our four o'clock train, which I took ; and it 
dropped me on the way, not being a through train." 

"Oh," I moan, "I meant the train that reaches us at 
four o'clock," and foresee the tables turned on myself, 
and disgrace impending, for Hassan the Turk ever avows 
that the four o'clock train is the train that leaves the 
Hub of the Universe at four o'clock, entirely irrespect- 
ive of the time it whistles along to any station on the 
spokes or rim. But I maintain that the centre of the 
universe for me is where I am. Why must I leave my 



250 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

shepherd's crook, humble though it be, and travel to the 
great cities to assume a railway train ? I know not when 
it leaves Boston or New York, or whether it leaves them 
at all. I do know when it reaches me, and of that I 
testify, yea, and will testify. 

" Yes," says Hassan the Turk. " You would no long- 
er have longitude reckoned from Greenwich and lat- 
itude from the equator, but every man should reckon 
from the centre of bis own dining-room, which would 
simplify navigation. Learn to look at the principles of 
things, and not simply at the incident which lies next 
to your hand." 

But I am the philosopher, not the philosophee, and 
shall I be tamely hoist with my own petard ? 

I am not confident about that four o'clock train. But 
I know I bear a grudge against it for giving my guest 
a cold dinner. 

I am next day smitten with a desire to see you, my 
intimate friend — a desire so irresistible that I take the 
train and an hour's journey for the purpose, and must 
take the return train home in another hour. You are 
equally desirous to see me, and for fifteen minutes we un- 
fold our budget unmolested ; but by the time our intel- 
lectual wares are unpacked and well scattered, the door- 
bell rings, and up come the cards of Mrs. A and Miss B. 

" Oh !" say you, trying to smother an inhospitable ex- 
clamation of disappointment into an innocent exclama- 
tion of surprise. 

"Oh!" say I, in outspoken disappointment, for it is 
no house of mine, and I am not under bonds to be hos- 
pitable. "Can't you do something?" 



SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL FREEDOM. 251 

A sensible and practical suggestion ; but what you do 
is to go down and see the excellent Mrs. A and Miss B, 
and I sit alone and reflect that there is no freedom in 
our social life. And there never will be any. And there 
never can be any. And we get on very comfortably 
without it. Only it is pleasant to rattle our chains once 
in a while, and hold up the links to look through them, 
and let it be understood that we know we wear them, 
and are not living in a mistaken belief that we are free. 
Mr. Henrj'- Rogers, in his charming " Greyson Letters," 
shows a very lively sense of the existing state of things. 
He sees there is no possibility of any different social 
status in this world, and is very careful to locate his re- 
form in the next. Even in heaven he considers that the 
angels will sometimes bore each other ; but it is only 
in heaven that the angel who sings you the 119th Psalm 
without stopping, and then begins again, may be act- 
ually hushed up at the hundredth stanza without his 
taking offense at it! In another and a better world, 
but never in this, may we accomplish such a feat. 

For, look you, Mrs. A and Miss B are your town folk, 
who can visit you at any time on the supposition that 
they really want to see you. But they do not want to 
see you. If they had come to the door and been told 
that you were out, not a pang would have rent their 
hearts ; not a shade of sorrow would have saddened 
their faces. They would have communed with each 
other on departing, "Well, we have made our call, and 
have gained time enough to call on Mrs. C. Really, we 
are in luck to-day." 

Does this argue false friendship on the part of those 



252 TW£L VE 311LES FJiOJI A LEMON. 

estimable women? Not the least in the world. Un- 
doubtedly they esteem you very highly in love for 
your work's sake. They are quite devoid of any hos- 
tility toward you, or any want of faith in your integri- 
ty. If you are sick, they will inquire for you with real 
and warm interest, will send you flowers and oranges 
and exquisite tid-bits, which your soul loathes and your 
children devour; but as for seeing you at any special 
time or at any special interval, their hearts are in no 
wise bent on it. And you equally were not particularly 
desirous of seeing them, and you were desirous of seeing 
me, let us assume. If, now, you were in another and a 
better world, you would say to them, 

" My friend is here for a short time, and we wish much 
to have a little talk together. You can come any time ; 
so just you go away now." And the lovely ladies being, 
under the circumstances, all sorts of angels, would stretch 
their white wings and soar away to some other of the 
many mansions as sweetly as if they had been let in to 
yours. 

But try that heavenly etiquette in this world, and 
you would soon have very few callers to try it on. 
Your friends would smile suavely, and say, "Oh, cer- 
tainly ; I would not interrupt you on any account." 

And as soon as the front gate clicked behind them, 
one would say to the other, " ^YasnH that cool ?" and 
the other would reply, " I should rather think so." 

And, without entering into any formal pact, they 
would mutually agree that you would not have the 
opportunity to refuse them again for one while ! 

And the beauty of it is, that you would feci and do 



SOCIAL FORMULA AM) SOCIAL FREKDOM. 253 

precisely tlie same were you in their place, and so would 
I. Nobody will often visit at houses where they tell 
him, in so many words, that they would rather see some 
one else. That is what it amounts to. No matter how 
delicately the preference may be decorated, it is still a 
preference, and we do not wish to go where we arc not 
wanted, not we ! 

It is because you well know this that you leave me, 
and descend into the parlor to your neighbors, and be- 
tween you you dig out a half of the hour that in the 
nature of things belongs to me, and fill up the whole 
with unnecessary chat about the society, and the picnic, 
and the sick people; all of which means only that you 
still continue to be fi-iendly, and not hostile, which is 
much, I grant. But the ladies are no more assured of 
it, and no more satisfied in the consciousness of dimin- 
ishing their list of calls by one, than they would be if 
you had been absent. You arc inwardly impatient to 
see me, whose time is sliort, and you fret a double quan- 
tity because you know I am impatient. As for me, I 
walk up and down the room, and look at the clock, and 
grow wroth without reason, for nobody is to blame. 
We arc all good citizens, doing our social duty, and do- 
ing it in the only way it can be done, or will bo done, 
until our wings are grown. 

In communities where these things arc reduced to a 
system, "not at home" comes into play to great advan- 
tage. Some persons have constitutional obj(;ctions to 
this formula when it is used to express what the words 
by themselves do not imply. But that view is merely 
superficial. You are not telling the truth, they say. 



254 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

Well, you do not want to tell it. But you arc tell- 
ing a llilseliood. Not at all. The phrase has a tech- 
nical and perfectly understood sense. You send out 
cards, saying that you will be "at home" on such a 
day. According to this theory, the cards are an imper- 
tinence. What do the card-receivers care whether you 
are at home or not? The significance of the announce- 
ment is that you wish them to be at your home with 
you. And the signilicance of the other statement is 
that you do not wish them to be at home with you. 
Why not say so, then? Because human nature is so 
sensitive a thing that it can not bear much, and we 
have to guard it at all points. The "not at home" 
leaves every thing in a delightful dubiety. You may 
be actually away ; we can, at least, always flatter our 
self-love that you are away, and we fool better in con- 
sequence. 

And you, my friend, who are such a stickler for the 
truth, would be the first to take oifense if we told you 
the truth. Blessings on the man or woman who in- 
vented this nice lilllo slun't-cut to our convenience with- 
out crossing our self-love! 

But in oountry communities where this formula is 
not adopted, anil where the words, therefore, would be 
false, there is nothing for it but to "face the music" at 
any inconvenience, or 

".IJmi and iK'in^sit 
Yomsoir in a I'losof," 

and listen to ^Nfalone slamming and calling through the 
house in a vain show, and enact the following dialogue 
when you present yourself at dinner: 



HOVIAh FORMULA AND HOCIAL FUKEDOM. 255 

Malone. "An' iiuhulo, iiiuin, I did iioL know you 
was out." 

YouJiSIOliK (L adopL llio lucLliotl of the old IrncL di;i- 
logiics butwcoii " Yourscli'" find "A Sinner"). " I litivo 
not been out, Mulone." 

Malone. " Why, sure, muin, Mrs, A and MIhs I> w;ih 
here, au' I tould them you was in, an' I'etehed 'em in, 
and couldn't lind you at all." 

YouiWKi.F {l)('ni(julii). "Never mind, Malone, 1 .shall 
have Oj)portunity to sec them again soon." 

]*]ither mode, as Macaulay said of torture, has its ad- 
vantages. But perhajw neither is wholly free from dis- 
advantages. 

In the country, however, where callers arc few and 
distances long, it is a very great inconvenience indeed 
which can Justify us in turning away a visitor from the 
door, or, still more, in tuiiiing uway a visitor after she 
is within doors. 

^riiere are visits which remain in our memories as 
bright s])ots in lil'e, a,iid there are visits whose only pleas- 
ure is that they are over. But visiting ought always 
to bo ])leasant — pl(>asant to both giver and receiver. 

One of th(! best jJiiiigs connected with kcGj)ing house 
is the freedom to receive one's fri(>nds. Many a n(;wly 
married cou[)Ie, many a small family without children, 
could board with far less care and expense than house- 
keeping costs them, atid with almost erpial eomfoit. Nor 
need housekee])ing be confined to mariied peo|)le, or to 
those whom God hath set in families. Why do not 
the solitary set themselves in families? Few women 
ever think of keeping house and making a home for 



256 TW£LVi: MIL£S FJiOM A LLWOX. 

tliemselvcs ami a centre of social life for their circle un- 
less tbej are married. Of coui-se it is a great deal easier 
to set up and keep up an establisliment ^Yith a man at 
the fore — if he is the right sort of man. Tlie right sort 
of man is one who knows instinctively when to be an 
active partner and when to be a silent partner; who 
goes to the front when there is money to be earned for 
the home, and to the rear when it is to be spent; who 
provides and enjoys a bountiful table, but is sweet-tem- 
pered, cheerful, and consoling in an emergency ; who is 
main-stay and head centre of the family, but who shows 
it only in constant providence and tendei' watchfulness 
— a man of whose comfort and taste every one else thinks 
fii-st, but who thinks of it himself least and last. .Such 
a man is a real help in housekeeping. But suppose a 
man is ignorant or incapable, has small knack in getting 
on, never is suited with his situation, but leaves a good 
one in search of a better, and finds none; refuses a sal- 
ary of a thousand a year because his "family can't live 
on a thousand dollars."' and so they live on nothing; 
docs not know what to do with money when he gets it, 
but fritters it away in trilling expenditures and foolish 
investments, while his family lack comfort in the pres- 
ent and security for the future; or suppose he is thrifty 
but fretful, exacting, imperious, capricious, selfish — w 
Le a help over the hard places in housekeeping? If a 
man can, in case of distress, put on a door-knob, mend 
a broken pane of glass, hang a picture, tack down a car- 
pet, entertain a guest, eat stale bread and like it when 
the stove would not draw and the biscuit w'ill not bake, 
he is pleasant to have about, and far better than no- 



SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL FREEDOM. 207 

body ; but the chances are large that he can not mend 
the knob, and will forget to call a carpenter, and may 
lower over the "slim breakfast;" so that his failure to 
put in an appearance need not be fatal to an establish- 
ment. But if a girl is left, the one ungathered rose 
upon the family tree, she goes to live with her married 
sister or brother, and, ten to one, becomes merged in the 
family, and presently loses all distinct individuality of 
position or influence. 

So the teachers in a city, and the clci'ks and the shop- 
girls, and all unmarried and self-supporting or inde- 
pendent women, live in boarding-houses or in families, 
often finding it difficult to secure an agreeable home, 
and often dwelling in a place and a manner that pre- 
clude every idea of home, and really deprive them of a 
large part of the social power to which their character 
and ability entitle them. 

.Suppose, now, four young gentlewomen who have 
been left each with a slender income, quite insufficient 
for gentle housekeeping, but sufficient for a respectable 
maintenance in the proffered home of a brother or 
brother-in-law, without further help from him than such 
proffer affords. Suppose that, instead of accepting these 
offers and becoming superfluous members of other fam- 
ilies — assistants possibly, but not indispensable, and al- 
ways subordinate — these four should. unite their forces. 
Four insufficient incomes may combine into one suffi- 
cient not only for comfort, but for elegance. The cost 
of housekeeping for four women is very far from be- 
ing four times the cost of housekeeping for one. In 
many respects it would not be perceptibly increased. 



258 TWELVE MILE'S FROM A Ih'MOX. 

One woman, lor instniioo, \YOuld nooil one servant ; and 
by distributing tho light and agivcablo bnt tnnc-and- 
oaro-nooding parts ol' the houso-work ami^ng lluMnsclvos, 
ibur Avonion oould do }HMloolly well with ono servants 
Even their assoeialion oan bo so guarded that there 
shall be no ueeessity I'or undue or undesired intimacy, 
and liking shall be its only niojisuro. b^aoh one's share 
of superintendence and service can be rigidly prescribed 
and observed. 'V\\c dining-room and parlor are the 
only common ground. Tn their own rooms they are as 
secluded and supren\e as if their souls were like stars, 
and dwelt apart. .In the drawing-room they are har- 
monious and hospitable. To the outside world they 
are householders, a I'anuly, a unit. They may receive 
and entertain ; they have standing, a local habitation, 
and a name. To themselves they are themselves — free, 
self-possessed, self-acting. It needs only a certain pow- 
er of adaptation — a certain similarity, or rather harmo- 
ny, of taste and purpose — to begin with, and then a mod- 
erate amount of Christian forbearance, of intelligent al- 
lowance, and, above all, scrupulous and invariable good- 
breeding. But there is no situation in life in which 
good-breeding is not indispensable to happiness and 
character; while in j^oint oi' t'orbearanee and adaptation 
thev would not need to exercise half as much as if they 
were married. The strain upon }>atience and temper 
would be far less than in marriage; and though, justly 
enough, the hapjnness arising from the alliance might 
be less intense and }ierfect, it would be far greater than 
from a tame and sjnritless life of perpetual subordina- 
tion or perpetual self-denial. 



HOVIAL FORMULA AMJ SO(JIAL FREEDOM. 2o9 

Or suppose the four gentlewomen supplement or sup- 
ply their income by teaching or by some form of remu- 
nerative work. Each earns five hundred dollars a year, 
J''ivc hundred dollars a year would keep no house, but 
four five hundreds would keep one respectably and 
comlbrtubly. ]>y systematic arrangement, four friends, 
one would think, might live together in a eoziness and 
even a luxury unattainable at any boarding-house 
which their means could command, with a pride of self- 
direction and independence which would be impossible 
for tliem in any other family, and at a cost really less 
than their uriited expenses in a separate life. They 
would purchase comfort and supervision at a less price 
than discomfort and subordination. They would spend 
their money for exactly what they wanted, and of what- 
ever economy they chose to exercise themselves would 
reap the fruits. 

ViWi the boarder is dependent upon the will and con- 
venience of othens. He can not invite his friends to 
come and spend a week with him without consulting 
the capabilities, or depending for welcome upon the dis- 
position, of some other host than himself. This puts 
him in an attitude not wholly dignified — not that which 
a mature person, man or woman, would naturally choose 
to maintain. The householder is monarch of all he sur- 
veys, and invites at his own sweet will. If he meets an 
old friend suddenly in the street, if she learns by chance 
that a former school-mate is in the neighborhood, there 
are no outside authorities to consult, no whims or 
moods of a landlady to consider. Forth from the warm 
welcoming heart goes the invitation, and the fatted calf 



2(50 ruri.}/-: Mii.fs /v.'o.i/ .t /a'i/(»,v. 

walks [o llu> bKn'k at. once, kiu>\vii)v; that, liis hour is 
coino. 

'IMiis thooivtioallv ; yvi praiMioally Iho hospilalilv of 
hi>us(>hi^KKM-s soinctimrs sihmus as n^allv hiHlj^t'il in as if 
llii'v wrro but. iiuuatrs ol' a. stianj'.cr's hi>usr. rt-opK^ 
who aro liospilabh' at heart, l.hoi\>U!'lil_v iVioiullv and 
\\'v]\ (lisjiostHk ilo vt'l niak(> such a, Imu'iKmi o\' hi^spilalit v 
thai one woiuKms how ihry c:\\\ liiul anv pleasure in it. 
This is u i>ival. [)itv, lor the e\ehani;;t> t>r visits oui^iit. to 
bo what, it is ea]>ablo ol" bemv;, one ol' tlie !';n>at pU>asiu\\s 
ol Iile, a rest, a relVt'shnienI, an iiu'enli\i>, not. a. burden. 

r>ut lo vendor it so we nei-d not Ibllow the rules laiil 
down in iho KH)ks, to divest, roco)>tions of their tiMror by 
boini^- ahvays ready to roooivo. Is it K'uskni, or Mast- 
lake, oi- liauneelol, tu- anolhei-, who eondemns e\len- 
sion-tables on the <.;round that your I.Mblo should bo 
o(]ually larj'.o at all times, to indie.ale lh;it you aro al- 
ways I'eady foi' ytuir iViends'i' (i(> |(>, Masllakci .and 
.Launi'olol ! Smeeiily i.s tln> wali-li word iA' the uvw 
dispen.^ation. We niusi have (he sup]>orlM of our 
brjU'kets visibl(>, an^l the i'hairdi\i,>'s as palpabh' as they 
aro really and as re.ally as th(>y a,ro p;dpal)ly lii'in; but 
if (lu> tabl^^ is to indii-ato that wo aro always ri>adv I'or 
our iViend, the table beeouies at oiu-i^ a piece ol' hou.siv 
hold ai'tluluess and not of housi>holil art, Cor we aro 
not at all linu\s (Mpially ri>ady. Honest y in life must 
preiH>dt> honesty in I'urnilui'e. We need not direct oni' 
(iVorts to beinsj; always r(>ady to S(>o I'rii'nds, but wo 
could do tnnch in lht> way of tryiu!'; not. lo b(> disturbed 
by thcii- cominj'; wluai wi» ai'o not I'cadv. if Seicaia 
ciMdd ha\e lu-i' own way, she would i^refer ('elcsliji's 



HDi'iM, ii'on.Miii.A AN It ,h(k:i.\l I'liiaaioM. 2<Jl. 
<;;ill l,o Im; in LIk; ;i('l,<;riioon, wli':ii l-li'; rni<l'l;iy luc'il \\\ 

over, iJio diHlicH aro wtiHlicd und removed, un<i Serena 
iM culrnly repOHiiip^ in tidy dreKH.'uid crnnpuruLive IciHuro. 
IJuL ir(J(;l(;Hlia inuHl, leave town hy tfw; noon train, and 
runs in by t«ii o'eloeic in the rnornin//, wlieu Serena in 
trirnrninj.; tli'; lunipH, and there in rnneli odor of p<!tro 
leijffi in tli(5 air, and Sererja'H (in//ei'H are not wliolew;ni(5 
to Ce)<!Htia'H glovcH, Hhall Serena be diHin;iy<:d ;uid a|>ol- 
o;/i/,e and mentally re^o'et tljat hlie ia alwayn "<;an;/lit 
in the Kiid.H?" Not the lea^t in the world, ifuhe in a 
HenHihle and fViiindly woinaii. IC it ia the pro()er tinie 
for her to he eleanin;.^ lamj^M, and nhe ia in a p'ai h proper 
to a larnprjjcaner, ahe han no e.all to he (Jintnrhed thou;.'h 
th<; (^necii of I'in^'land, in erown and ;;e,(:ptre, ahould pay 
\\i'.v a rnornin;.^ viait. She Hhonld not eonaiiJer hei'Keli' 
as "eanpdit in the, Kudu," or jih eanj/ht at all. She in in 
the auda of her own fVfte-will and hy the lore, ordina- 
tion of lleaverj, and if "Heaven itHeH'Hhould Htoof) to 
her," it oij;-dit to lind h<;r nowhere elwe at that lionr. 
it would he very unheeomin;/ that Hhe Hhonld he trirn- 
rfiinj-^ her lanifjH in a hIIIc ^^own in the front parlor. 
Why not he entirely frank and at caHe, and if her work 
be preHMing, bid OeleHtia to a Hafe Hcat l^y the kitehen 
/ire, or if ahe can convenirmtly f/o f^ffdnty for a while, 
take her pleaHant ehat to the [^leaaant fjarlor? 

So far frora it8 being nec<jHHary 1/; }>e alwayH ready 
for cornitany, it in one of the pleanureH of Iiounekeeping 
to prepare for eomininy. Sweejiing and duKting are 
but dull drudgery when eleaidineHH JH the only object; 
but liow pleaHant it iw V) " tidy " the roornw when a houHe- 
ful of gueKtH are comirig at the end of it! 'i'here iw an 



2(>2 rnT/j'i; ^tILKs FJfo.u a i.kmox 

incentive Nvorihy of toil -that ti':insn\ntos toil into ilo- 
ligbt. Hut suppose vou have been ill. or the eluKlreu 
have had scarlet, iever, or ^iorali is gone, aiui there is a 
ehaneo tor s\ visit tVom a friend. Must you send her 
a\vay? Yes, il'vou absolutely ean not undertake the 
slight addition to your work whieh her visit necessi- 
tates. Uut renuMuber her visit does not necessitate that 
you should go through house-cleaning previous to her 
appearance. Suppose the doors are lingcr-niarkcd, and 
the windows not iauUlessly clean, and the guest-cluun- 
ber has not been swept tor a nuMUli, the doors will open, 
and the windows will let in i'resh air, and you and your 
friend can get immense draughts of satisfaction out of 
the visit, though things are not as you would so glad- 
ly have them, if you will only not fret about them, but 
consign them to the insignificance they merit. We are 
;UVaid of each other, forgetting that our friends havo 
the same kind of experiences that we have. The most 
thorough of housekeepers is tjometimes lorced to "let 
things go," ludess she sacritices something of more im- 
port.!ineo than ''things.'' Serena is distressed because 
the afternoon sun reveals to her responsible eyes a little 
dust under the sofa. But Celestia is equally distressed 
because her student lamp suddenly goes out during 
Serenas evening call. \Vhy should not both coml'ort 
themselves with the reflection that nothing has hap- 
pened unto them but such as is conunon unto women, 
and disnnss their apjnehensions? i know a man who 
came near bleeding to death because there was not a 
cobweb to be found in house or barn to stanch the 
blood. l>e advised, dear house n\other, and do not lose 



SOCIAL FORMULA AND SOCIAL FREEDOM. 263 

all the freshness and impulse to be found in your friend's 
visit because you liavo no time to go through the house 
with your broom upside down. 

Hero is where comes in that much belabored institu- 
tion, tlie Best lloom. What vials of sarcasm have been 
poured out u[)on it! Its closed shutters have cast a 
gloom over the pathways of literature. Its musty 
smells have penetrated the corners of remote novels. 
Its covered chairs have stiflcned in smart essays. Men 
easily influenced by public opinion have sought to avert 
the shafts of satire by building themselves ceiled houses 
without any "spare room" — houses whose every apart- 
ment should be occupied. But women, with a stronger 
instinct of the fitness of things, cling to the " best room," 
the "spare room," the parlor, and have hitherto made a 
good fight. 

And the women are right. The best room is often 
absurd, but a best room is not an absurdity. It is ap- 
palling to be shown into a square apartment, with heavy, 
chill air, with a horse-hair sofa, a horse-hair arm-chair, 
and six horse-hair plain chairs — only this and nothing 
more. But because a black silk gown is ill fitting you 
do not therefore discard black silk gowns. The spare 
room may have a straw matting, if you please, and cane 
chairs, and blinds open or closed, according to the light 
and heat, but every housekeeper knows that, after all 
the essays arc written and all the arrows shot, a spare 
room is a great convenience, a great resource, a great 
peace of rnind. 

But it is inhospitable, says the visitor. You do not 
wish to be turned off by yourself into a room outside 



264 twi:lve miles fjwm a lemon. 

of Uic latnily life, destitute of associations, priin, orderly, 
decorous, but silent and inexpressive. You want to go 
in where the sewing and reading and talking are, and 
see your friend in her cvery-day garb. That may be; 
but suppose your friend prefers not to be thus seen? 
You will admit that the family is sacred. Not every 
one who is welcome in the })arlor could be welcome in 
the family room. Nor is the welcome to the family 
room at all times one and the same. Absolute freedom 
to repel is the only guarantee of warmth in welcome. 
If a house have no room set olV for visitors, there is no 
special gratihcation in being admitted to its family room. 
Nor is that home sentiment very desirable which does 
not instinctively make a distinction between its own 
and the outside world, however amiable and friendly 
may be its relations therewith. That family is, indeed, 
doing its work best — all other things corresponding — 
which jealously guards itself from an indiscriminate 
open communion. 

There are scenes of leisure, chitchat, light reading, 
upon which the entrance of a friend would be no intru- 
sion. But when you arc in eager consultation over the 
gray cashmere — will it turn for Anne? will it dye with- 
out cockling? is there enough for a whole suit, or shall 
the brown go with it, and make a suit of two shades for 
Anne, and perhaps a polonaise for Ella? — and the ruf- 
fles arc on one chair and the over-skirt on another, and 
there is a universal ripping and rippling, it is then a 
solid satisfaction to rcilect that there is a room across 
the ball which tells no tales. It is not a false shame, 
a foolish pride in keeping up appearances, that makes 



SOCIAL FOA'MI/LA A NO SOCIAL FREEDOM. 205 

you (li.slikc liaviiig Mrs. A and Mrs. J> and Mrs. (J walk 
ill upon your turnings and inatuhing.s and contiivings. 
It is a spontaneous modesty, a natural reticenec, which 
prornj)ts always to the suppression of processes and tho 
exhibition only of results. AVlion, afterward, Mrs. A 
praises Anne's new suit, you tell her, not only without 
shame, but with rejoicing, how ingeniously it was fash- 
ioned out of the several birds in last year's nest; i)iit 
during the fashioning Mrs. A's presence would have dis- 
turbed and hitulered yon. A gi'cat deal of house-work 
is helped on by tli(; knowledge that there is a room in 
the house where that work docs not go, and to which 
the mistress may r(!j)air, leaving all iier state secrets 
behind li(;r. So far i'rom the ])arlor being an incum- 
brance, an excresceneo, it is a relief, a saf(;ty- valve. Let 
us bow down to J*]astlakc in sincei'ity and trulh ; but to 
arrange our houses on the; f)ret('.nse lliut our frif-nds ar(5 
at all times and in all i)arts of them ecjually welcome is, 
or ought to b(^, a grcatcir sham than all the veneering 
we can put into tin; j)urlor. J5ecause I tic;at my friend 
to-day to roast turkey and plum-pudding, do I mean to 
insinuate to him that this is my every-day fare, or blush 
to own that yesterday I dine<l off hash and hristy-j)ud- 
ding? Nay, rather, I exultantly [)ropound to him that 
inexorable law of succession by which chopj)cd beef is 
the inevitable and not unwelcome follower of roast. 
But none the less I rejoice to do him honor and my fam- 
ily a pleasancc by ministering to him a least of fatter 
things. It is trouble and expense, but we love trouble 
and expense when they express aflcction and friendship. 
It is not simply that my family feast in his cause — it is 

12 



2(U'» 



TWKl.Vt: Mll.t'S l'h'(>\l .1 I r.Mox. 



!ilsi> lh;it \w ;';r;\i'i's Mtul jmMs my laiiiily lousl. 'Tlio 
Imki^y may 1h> in his liouoi-, luit il is \\c tlmt gives tlio 
luilvoy its oliiot\'liann lor us. 

Ill tlisi'ussiii!-'" lunischoKl aii \Vi' iwc loo apl lo lorgot 
llu" lioiisohitKl nrlist. Many lu-aulilul ami dosirablo 
tliin!.';s tlio l>usy wil'o ainl molluM- miisl I'oro^o. Slio 
lovi's hor tnmsliUTiil, \ i\ iil rlima, hiil brilcr lovrs llio 
tlimpKHl rm!-';tM's thai do not know l\o\v lo hoKl ii ; ami 
rather than banish Muau iVom thr labK- sho oxilos \\\o 
ohiuH lo its dark i-Ktsrl and romU'sconds to phiinor waro. 
Hut the Uno\Ylod;';o that hor rlosiM holds that Irrasuri^ 
is n joy nt>t, lo ho (h'sjMsi'd, and when slio spirads it, 
upon hor tahK* at a. tVirnd's i'omm;v, anvl thi> rhiMrcn 
p'iV/.c upon it wilh S(>KMnn admii'ation, will you ichuko 
hiM' lor *lispla\ msU-ad of honcsh- 7 'To man\ a woman 
luM' parlor is lirr poom. The livin;\ room must, hi* plain 
and unadoniod, both out. o[' ro";artl ti> Ium- purso and to 
iho cavolosa ilsta and \'cc\, {\\c innunuMablr balls and 
tops a.nd jai'kknivi's, that, koi'p up a oonstant i^iiiurilla 
\variart> upiMi polish and (Va",ilily. Iwit. this parlor, o\! 
whii'li llu- ohildron ^.lo ni>l \\:\\c i\\c run, is Iho hiinrmg" 
ground of Ium- laniMi>s. IbMo hor tKdijdit. in oolor and 
lorm may lako sliaixv W'halovor cW drlirato, of bran 
til'ul, ol" harmonious, o\' aniitpu", iA' j'rtMostpio. or faiiLMs 
i\c pK-asos luM' taslt> sho may galhor i>r t.ishion lu>ro, 
salo I'rom llu' iiimrsions of Ium" youii", barbarians, all at, 
]ilay t'lsowluMo. I'lviMi il'shoonly opt-ns hor grand room 
oil high days, tlu^ sun and air can s]MU'ddy idonlily it. 
with l\\{\ uuivorso; and hoi' rhildii>n aro not harmed by 
having ono spot, barred lo Iheir lieiMi.se. ,\nd wdiile it 
is the outlet lor her oth(M'wise neeessarily re|U'i'.ssi'd in 



HO','/ A/, li'OliMIILA ANH I.OHIAI. FIlKKhOM '/J','/ 

clifialioriH, it in tin; ur';n.'i of li';i' fVicn'lj-.liij);; a lifjk 
whereby hJio keopn pIcuHunt lioM of t,li<; oui'.iil'; worM, 
Wliy, O purblind jnan I will you iiiHii-X on lindin^^ only 
OHtontatir^fi and convention and Mr«, Or(jndy wlion; a 
wixer arifl der^per ^ft/,e ituyjii reveal nytripatliiew urid m- 
piniion;', and ;JI j^raeiouM MeriHibilltieH? 



268 TWELr£ MILES FliOM A LEMOX 



XV. 

TITB FASHION'S. 

Has any great philosopher, any original thinker, ever 
said that no man is so wise as all men ? If not, I will 
say it myself rather than it should go unsaid. The 
fools may be, as Lady Mary Wortley Montague affirm- 
ed, three out of four in every person's acquaintance; 
the multitude seems sometimes to go blindly and per- 
sistently in the wrong track ; nevertheless the average 
common sense of the world is immense. The course of 
the people is wildly zigzag, yet a line following their 
general direction probably comes nearer the right line 
of advance than any line which the wisest philosopher 
could mark out. 

Loud and deep are the maledictions uttered upon the 
fashions. Virtuous women denounce them by the fire- 
side. Virtuous men rail at them from pulpit and print- 
ing-press. The extravagance, the bankruptcy, the do- 
mestic dissensions, a great part of the misery that mars 
the beauty and disturbs the peace of society, are laid at 
the door of fashion. But what is fashion ? It is simply 
the common way of doing things. Things must be done. 
"We all agree to that. The human animal was not sent 
furred or hairy into the world. It must dress itself. In 
this climate it must dress itself a good deal. The bear 
and the beaver have no opportunity of setting or follow- 
ing the fashions. They go in a fore-ordained groove. 



THE FASHIONS. 269 

The duck's neck and the peacock's tail are wonderful 
specimens of splendor in attire, but neither duck nor 
peacock has any hand in the matter. To man alone 
is given the high art of using taste, judgment, genius, 
in his clothes. And high art it is, in spite of all our 
denunciations. 

• Man and his Maker are the formers of all the fiishions 
of the world. Man devises his own dress. The Creator 
devises the dress of all the beasts of the field, the birds 
of the air, the fish of the sea. If we are to be taught by 
example, there need be inherently no limit to variety 
and splendor of costume. So far as usefulness is con- 
cerned, all the birds might just as well be gray. Does 
a fish taste any better because his scales shimmer like 
opal in the sunshine? Man may wreak himself on in- 
vention, but he can never hope to surpass the splendor 
of the beetle and the butterfly. Why is the cut of a 
coat, the tint of a gown, unworthy of the human mind, 
when the Creator has so clothed the grass of the field 
which to-day is and to-morrow is cast into the oven ? 
A woman trims her hat, but God made the feather. If 
the Almighty and All-knowing could find His good 
pleasure in spreading the blue of the heavens and the 
green of the meadows — if He enjoyed strewing the earth 
with blossoms, and filling these autumn woods with ev- 
ery fantasy of color and brilliance, shall we disdain to 
follow Ilim with unequal steps, and weave Ilis textures 
and mingle Ilis hues for the adornment of what He has 
chosen. to be the perfect flower of His world, the crown 
of His creation — man, little lower than the angels? 
Dressing is not a mere whim, arbitrary, superficial, 



270 nvELrE miles mo.u a j.kmox. 

frivolous. Frivolous uumi aud woinon will liovolop and 
display tlioir iVivolity in dross as in all other niattors; 
but the I'ashiou of dross is founded on doop princi}ilos, 
shaded by delicate distinctions, fruitful of great results. 
It is not simply that the sorrow of France drapes all the 
world in dun ; but climate, vigor, natioiuility, progress, 
droop the folds or tighten the wraps, blend or blazon 
the colors. Dress is, indeed, so important, so vital n 
matter, that it has been thought dangerous for one na- 
tionality, though never so superior, to tamper with the 
costume of another, however inferior, Mr. Charles 
NordhofV, an outgrowth of the highest civilization of 
New York, thinks that ^^ (he dch'ten'otis hahit of icmt'i'n(/ 
ch^thvs has done much to kill olF the Hawaiian people." 
Our missionaries, good and great men as they were, had 
not sufliciently studied fashion. They }uobably thought, 
as most of us think, that "fashion'' is the device of some 
"scarlet woman"' — some emanation from the l\vil One 
that lies in wait to devour — and never considered that 
in their own black coats and white chokers they were 
as rigidly following the fashions as the most gayly 
dressed lady at the midnight ball. They did not con- 
sider that ''fashion," proscribing its scantiness and sim- 
plicit}' to the Hawaiian, had its Ibundation in the require- 
ments of soil and climate, or was any thing but barba- 
rian, and to be supplanted at the earliest possible mo- 
ment by the hat and coat and trowsers, the shoes and 
bonnet and gown, of New England's rigorous skies. 

There is something almost awful in the revolutions 
of the ftishions. Periodicity is of itself mysterious. 
Wh}'' docs one winter's }Mioumonia repeat itself the 



Tllh' l'\\SIII()NH. 271 

next winter? Why do the cliilLs ari'l fever Hhakc you 
and burn you every twenty-one days? Why do the 
canker-worms bury themselves on the tenth of June, 
and the cattle go to pasture on the twentieth of May ? 
Why should the hoops that moved Addison's ridicule 
rise and round and vanish in our own day? What 
wonderful working of the inner world Vjrings up again 
the Josephine waist, the Pompadour hair, the Grecian 
skirt? It is not the whim or the caprice of one man 
or woman any more than is the birth and death of a 
language, the creation and adoption of a word or a song. 
Eug(jnie in Paris could friz the forehead of Christen- 
dom, but Eug<jnic at Chisclhurst has no more power 
than the Tuilcries can give to Madame Thiers, 

A little while ago a lady presented herself in the 
house of a friend, dressed in a gown just thirty years 
old. The corsage was pointed in front, full of close 
gathers at the point and loose gathers on the shoulders, 
open behind. The skirt was straight and full, without 
gore or over-skirt. The sleeves would pass yQ,r)j well 
for modern flowing sleeves, and the muslin under-sleevcs 
were sufficiently fashionable to escape observation. At 
the time when that dress was made mothers used to en- 
tertain their daugliters with accounts of the narrow 
gored skirts which they wore in their youthful days. 
When those daughters grew up they wore skirts gored 
and narrow as their mothers had done before them. 

Why do the revolving years thus put down one and 
bring up another? Or would it be better that we should 
have either the one or the other constantly ? Is there 
intrinsic advantage in either? To my eye the gored 



272 7'irA7, lA' .i///./;.s' i'ut>M \ i.kmox. 

iiarrcnv uiuK'r-skiit \\'\\\\ llio .short tli;i]HHl DVi-r-skirL is 
prettier than llu> plain rnllskiit; but il' next yi'ar tlie 
over-skirt sliouKl disappcai', and \voiueii go back lo sin- 
gk^ blessedness, no doubt the lovely I'ornis of wearers 
juul the nimble lingers of seamstresses would give it the 
graet> and bi>aulv Nvliieh seem to inhere in the ])rescnt 
stvU>. 

It is not whether vou shall oi' shall not follow the 
I'ashion ; it is what lashioii ami whose lashion shall you 
follow. It is whetiier you shall Jbllow uninU>lligentlv 
or iiitrlligenlly, moderatoly ov (>\travagantl v. J\lr. 
Nordholf's party eamo across :i man at work in very 
scanty attiiv. Out of respect lo his visitors, the man, 
after rt'iH-iviiig iIkmu, sli]iiH'd into the bush, and re-ap- 
peared ckul in hat and shirt, conllileutly believing, no 
(k)nbt, that he hail thus apjtroviul himsidf a cosmoj)oli- 
tan. l^ut in rejecting Hawaiian atlire he lunl not be- 
come wholly American, and wdiilc the first may have 
been somewhat staiMling, the second was ridiculous into 
the bai'gain. And when lo this you :uU\ that the gXMi- 
tU^ and gracious llawaiians ai\> ilying out at the rate of 
sixty jicr cent, in forty years, and partly, at least, under 
tlu' weight of their clothing and in the heavy shade of 
their close houses, it is surely tin\e \o pausi> ami eonsiil- 
er whether fashion, in Ha\vaii ami elsmvliere, may not 
have its own suHlcient reasons for being. 

"If life anil death art> the same, why (\o you not kill 
yourself?" asked a rash man of a Stoii'. 

" IV^eause th(\y arc the same," rcjilied the Stoic. 

l*'ashion is of no ai'connt; why should we follow it? 

r>ut if it is of no account we may just as wi-ll follow 



THE FASHIONS. 27 'S 

it as frown on it. A woman — and a man too — must 
be dressed. Why not, then, dress like otlier people? 
Why not dress like the people who are alive and will 
make remarks, rather than like the people who are dead 
and tell no tales? It is certainly pleasanter to be in- 
conspieuous than conspicuous. We do not begrudge 
the toga to the Romans, but Cicero himself would not 
like to dine in it where every one else wore his dress- 
coat. Truth and loyalty are due to the absent; polite- 
ness should be paid to the present. A girl should stand 
up for her grandmother against all comei's, but no in- 
terpretation of the fifth commandment makes it incum- 
bent upon her to wear the "calash" which sheltered 
that good lady fi'om the sun during her earthly pil- 
grimage. 

When we see Nilsson and Kellogg acting Margaret 
in simplest, finest muslin or crape, whose white folds 
full and sweep with statuesque grace, we are charmed 
with the garb, and would fain dispense with paniers and 
rufflings and doublings. But presently a lady appears 
in the drawing-room splendid with sheen of satin, the 
fairy frost-work of lace, tlie white repose of pearls, or 
the dazzle of diamonds; the little country girl flits 
among her flowers, fresh as they, with the morning red 
upon her cheeks, the heaven's blue in her eyes, and ev- 
ery seam of her cambric gown and every puff of her 
fluttering ribbons modeled upon the last fashion plate, 
and at once the ancients go down before the moderns. 
The flowing lines of crape and muslin, you say, may 
answer for the stage — may have answered well for Hel- 
en, with a maiden to every fold, for Aspasia entrancing 

12* 



27-1 TWh'LVN MILL'S Fh'OM A LI:M0\. 

the youths ami the ]>liilosop]iors of vVlhcus; but llioy 
^vollld Ihrc but hardly in tho scriininagc of inodoni lifo, 
in the daylight of gardens, or the glitter of evening 
splendors. 

Wo can hardly find words strong enough to cxjiress 
our disa})probatiou of the ei'ani})ing bodies of modern 
dress. Our hidies would bo disgusted, says the fashion 
denouncer, to see their Wmius, their J\syche, their Clytie, 
tricked out in iiineteentii-centuiy corsage. ]kit no 
more, 1 imagine, tlian would the critics to sec tho iiinc- 
tocnth-ccntury ladies dressed in Venus's array. Clytic's 
inantua- making is perfectly hygienic, but her looso 
robe, 

"Slii)])ing down, leaves bare 
Her Itriglit hreusi, slu)iteniiig into siglis." 

Yet Clytie followed tho fashions of her day and sinned 
not, and Anna Maria follows the fashions of her day, 
"close-buttoned to tho chin," with equal innocence. 
If the close waist fits well, it is a healthful waist. It 
may be clumsy and uncomfortable, pinching here and 
bagging there, and then it is a trial to health and tem- 
per. But the master of arts among dress-makers knows 
that a dress too tight is a misfit; that to be perfect it 
onust be comfortable. The really elegant dress admits 
full play of all the muscles that a woman has any oc- 
casion to use wdiile she is wearing it. And surely the 
American woman of our age would be no better equip- 
ped for her work by adopting the costume of Helen. 

It is to be said, moreover, that in our day fashion is 
to tho last degree accommodating. If one has consti- 
tutional objections to the plain waist, the }iolonaise is 



77/ A' FASHIONS. 27 T) 

ready, willi every (](;grec oC fiillness. If eorscts arc re- 
pugnant, they ean be dinpcnHcd willi, and ri(; one Ije tli(5 
wiser but the (Jisj)en.ser, If Hkirts are too long, what 
doth lii rider that th(;y be shortened? W i\u'.y ought to 
hang from the shoulders, go liung them. JSIone of these 
things move the world from its equipoise. One ean ae- 
com])li,sh them all, and yet live and move and h.'ive her 
being without rehulo^ — nay, ev(;n without noticf; fiom 
fashifjii. 

Some oi'our {iiojilietn |)i<;(iiet ;i r(;turn to the Himflul 
of antiquity; and if fashi'jn w(;re a matter of will, we 
might ];)erhaj)S advocate the change;. If sandals could 
be so arranged as to k(;e[) the feet warm and dry in 
winter, they would be cool and charming in summer, 
and neat and pleasant all the year round to the foot, 
which they would protect without confining. But our 
various little side issues of foot-drawings and broad 
Boles avail but little. In shoes as in gowns neither the 
largo nor the small has any advantage; but the shoe 
that fits you is the right shoe. You make much ado 
with models and measurements, and after weeks of 
waiting are put to pedal torture. You step into the 
next shoe shop, and in ten minutes arc shod with sup- 
pleness and strength. 

It is a most wise and benign arrangement of Provi- 
dence that we can follow the fashions, and are not forced 
to lead them — even our own. Here and there rises a 
sovereign of style who by some inward genius sei^^es, 
combines, produces, creates — the artist of costuming. 
The rest of us, the common herd, copy with what clo.sc- 
ncss we may, in such fabrics as we ean command. Of 



270 TWKLV/-: JIILKS rUOM A LKMOX. 

ourselves \vc have no originating power. Left to our- 
selves, we should be in sorry plight. Yet wc recognize 
beauty when it is presented to us. AVe detect harmo- 
ny; wc shun discord and glare and violence. To de- 
sign our own eostiinie would exhaust our ingenuity 
without satisfaction. To follow our leaders is half a 
jxistinio. We have the jilcasurc of selection with the 
niininnun of fatigue, and the great bulk of time loft for 
other and more strenuous occupations. After a day's 
shopping or an hour under the dress-maker's hand, a 
woman bemoans herself for her Paradise Lost; yet it 
is really surprising to see how short is the time which 
she is foyccil to spend on clothes in order to be very 
well dressed. Could Charles Sumner deliver orations 
in a sash, or Mr. Longfellow write poetry in paniers? 
Certainly not. Nor would !Mrs. Stowe have better 
moulded LTncle Tom in coat tails, or !Mrs. Browning 
sung in trowsei's. Saian cuique. A woman spends 
hours in embroidering a gown, when she might have 
learned a language or saved a soul. True ; but there 
are times when she does not feel like cither learning a 
language or saving a soul. Tiien the growth of silken 
leaves and buds under the busy fnigers is no task, but 
a solace. 1 know a woman who 

" Can speak Ciicok 
As naturally ns jiigs s(|iicak ; 
To whom Latin is no more ditlioilo 
'i'han to a hhu'kliiril 'tis to wliistlo;" 

who dreams in German and thinks in French, and when 
it comes to soul-saving is a savor of life unto life— who 



77/ A' l<'ASllI()i\S. 277 

yet embroiders licr own capes and gowns and those of 
her friends. 

There arc follies and whimsies in fasliion. There is 
opportunity for individual taste and choice. Neverthe- 
less, the wisest thing for people in general to do is to 
follow the fashion that prevails. It is only in excep- 
tional cases that they will obtain a larger result of sat- 
isfaction at a l(;ss outlay of trouble by setting up their 
own standard. Dress is too important to be denounc(;d, 
too significant to be neglected, but too pliable to found 
a fight on ! 

What we want is strong-minded and large-natured 
women who will not be the slave of dress, or of reform, 
or of any one idea; who will understand the philoso- 
f)hy and recognize the beauty and adopt the necessi- 
ties of dress without straining its possibilities; who will 
neither dwarf nor magnify its importance, but will know 
liow to follow fashion with moderation and discrimina- 
tion, to lead it with beneficence, and make it in all 
things a minister of grace. If the woman is subordi- 
nate to the dress, it is not the fault of the dress, but of 
the woman. 

Alas! that not only a servile but a dignified follow- 
ing of the fashion imposes the disagreeable duty of fol- 
lowing them into the shops! It is not simply for their 
exemption from toiling and spinning that wc envy the 
lilies of the field, but that they should be arrayed more 
magnificently than Solomon in all his glory, and not 
even have to go up to town to buy material ! 

Shopping would be divested of half its horrors if dry- 
goods clerks would be kind. Is it too much to ask? 



278 TWKLV/-: .Mif.f-:s rh'OM a ij-.'mox. 

They havo all iho a^lvantago o( situation. They arc 
familiar with the locality. They know exactly where 
the black silks are lo be lonnd, what is the Inrking- 
plaec of the sheetings, what corner is haunted by the 
hosiery. The quality, the [iricc, the style of goods — 
they have it all at their lingers" ends. They are barri- 
caded by the counters and supported bv ranks of ac- 
quaintances. Vou, constitutionally timid, full of mis- 
giving concerning your own skill and taste, with but a 
vague idea oi' Nvhat you ought to want, enter a palace 
of splendor and contusion, to encounter, single-handed, 
these veterans of the yard-stick. It' they are civil, 
friendly, re-assuring, it is as much as you can do to kcc}) 
your wits well in hand, and choose from the distracting 
variety the one little supply that you demand. If they 
are insolent, curt, indilVerent, what remains but retreat? 
There are dilVcrent species of objectionable clerks. 
One is voluble, familiar, and altogelher abominable. 
You never willingly approach him, but, accosting him 
unawares, you feel as if you were instinctively and con- 
stantly holding him by a tight rein to keep hint from 
open impertinence, and not always successfully. To 
the severest simplicity of address he will sometimes re- 
spond rudel}'. In novels, ladies are majestic, impress- 
ive, all-powerful. Q^hey repress manitestations of ill- 
breeding in others by the overpowering grandeur o\! 
their own ladyhood. But in real lite real ladies are 
quite as likely to be -modest, shrinking, easily subdued 
by brutality, and capable of olVcring to aggression no 
resistance but flight. Such swil'tly succumb to the bold 
and blatant clerk — succumb by flying, not buying. 



'/'//A' FASHIONS. 27'.) 

'JMicrc in the icaHin;^ clcil:, who loavoH you no f|ui(;i for 
reflection and no Hpace lor eornpariHon, but irnagincH 
the way to weciirc your (MJHtorn in to urj-^c you without 
iritermiKHiori. There iH tlie indin'ereiit clerk, who Kayw 
he has not the ^oods you want before you know your- 
self what you do want; who throwH tho j)areel down 
on the counter as if it were to take or U} leave, };ut 
manifests not thr; .sli^-diteBt interest in ascertaining your 
wish or aeeornrnodating or assisting you. There is the 
snap}>ing- turtle clerk, who brings you to th(; point, 
re-adjusts your somewhat incoherent question, and an- 
swers you with a quick, irrif^atient directness that quite 
liuniiliates yr^u. II im, thougli some condemn unmf;as- 
urcdly, I can tolerate. Honest human petulance, born 
of fatigue, is the least urjpardonable of mcrcaritih; ill 
manners, Ccnisider that the man has been the target 
for all sorts of questions, wise and foolish, tlirough long 
hours. If we had been in his placf;, doubtless by this 
time we shf>uld greet an ang(!l with a growl, IJut re- 
member this, O long-suffering dry-goods man! you 
have made your bed, and you must lie in it. You are 
tied by the tape-measure of your own free-will. It is 
your business to answer questions. You arc paid to 
display goods. Doubtless there may often be before 
the counter stujjidity, selfishness, unreasonableness, lack 
of prinei[)le; but these do not justify or excu.sc the 
disj^lay of such traits behind the counter. Still less 
do they excuse their outlay upon the modest, the mod- 
erate, tho upright. When clerks have been teased by 
women who do not examine goods with frank intent, 
but simply to idle away a superfluous hour, to gratify 



2i^0 rWKLVK MIIJCS mOM A LKMOW 

i\ morbivl :\i\vl tVivolvMis tnsio. tv^ boar otV sunvpllliously 
iiv>tno importovi ido;v tor ^^v^^^u^^uo n\;\»uUaoimv, it is not 
;\K^olutolv uuwatuml or in\jHv<8iblo that thov v^houKl bo 
Ivtrnvod into irriiatiow ; but it iv^ \»nbusino5*}*-liko and 
unwise. Tliov will novor thus ivpivss tho idlo or tho 
curious, but t)\ov will otton olVond tho unotVondinj?, 
Lot thon\ ivn\onibor ihat tho v^hopping as woll as tho 
soiling world is a muob-triod i\nd long-sutVoriuii' world. 
l\vs tho woman, undor pivtonso of buying a gxnvn, 
motvlv tnko nolo ol' its sivlo that sho tnav niako hor 
own tlounoos altor tho s;\tno pattorn? Ro not tov^ harsh 
upon hor, outragod drv-gwds olork, who will havo t)o 
}H>ivontaiiV t'lvtu your salos to hor. Ooubtlo.ss sho 
W'vHild bo oidy too glavl tv^ buy vour u^bos outright, but 
hor husband oa)i not or will not t'urnish tho moans, 
and sho is loivovl to \i!<o hor owi\ tiugot^s. Oo t»ot bo- 
grudgv hor tho small lu^lp v>t' vour lay tigmv. li would 
\h\ iudood, lar bottor that sho should bo honost and 
Irank, a\ul oxp»\\^>< hor intoniion. tu^t atton\pt to oarry 
it out by doooit. PrvA^ably iu> vmjo ovor askod porn\is- 
sion to oxatnino gwils without roooiving a oourtoous 
and ptvinpt assont. Hut tho }Hvr thing is not nnusod 
to brutality, and has unhappily loarnod too n\uoh indi- 
ivction. \'ou. dry-gvvds olork, atv young ai»vl sti\M\g, 
atul a tinin. Ho you. \\v kiiubioss and holpfulno.^^s, t"ui^ 
thor hor aims, ai\\l so w in hor vnor [o ovM\lulonov\ oaso, 
and outiMghtno.s.s not vopol, iVighton. and woujul hor bv 
your domoanor. 

r^v tar tho groat majvnily ot" wvmuou slu^p honostly. 
Thoy g\> to many plaoo.s thoy vn'orturn many g\)ods, 
thov postpone and hositato; b\tt thoy havo a serious 



'Ill If! I''AHIII(>SH. *ZHV 

(tMyx'X m Vifiw. Om ViiiUi ingrain cAqtfd thxiH u<fi 
amount U> mnaU, In a gr^;at war<;hoa^/; [AUA with ilte 
whuhU ()f iUa \<)<)xu it nf'Mum r'id'u'MUmkly maiM, txxA i\m 
(iUifk naturally wi)ih<m my huly would buy hcT «tnp 
and ?^j <l^/n<j with it, iyA'ily, mui/uHlc/ad ml The 
poor litthj ingrain will l/<i! \jiiior<: h<rr <ry^#, f^/r many a 
y<(;ar, Ilcr hnn\fHU'Vn UniUtu am Ut Ui (:/>m\x\U'A. War 
\tnrm in of fismt-iron. \Utr chihlr^rm ar<f; U) grow up fm 
that carf/'jt, and k'arn from it ^y>lor and c/mUmr, Will it 
harrnoni//; with th^j [/ap;r and th<j chintz Umw^i/i Will 
it ^Jc prettily, and will it cut over well into a WJr^y^m 
carport when it« rar/j Ik run in the Kitting-ro^/rn '/ To 
the \)m'cM'4Xi¥'.r the eheap ingrain i» a rri/zre morn/rf<toM» 
rnatt/;r than the costly }A(X{n(d\/i, for it rniwt Ja«t lougifr 
at A V; more W/kt-A at; j^^ Ud).' .e 

and refh:^;t without mit^inhK-Mt .' ,; . , > 

tM?ncc from you. And even if *b« fnak<r» up h<:i' mirwl 
to nothing, and leav^^ '" on yoi;.- >rt her 

not U; f'/}fithmu<A for , y or v-^', . . The 

probability i» that »he krumn her own hmiMum a great 
rJeal better than you <\(f, itxA the d'- -» 

are but fe<f;ble repre»f;ntsitiv':» of th , ... , . . .m. 

Morc^jvfr, if «he d^>e« not buy the ear[K;l; now, Fi^; you 
sympathetic, obliging^ f/atient with all o :^ and 

oV;ije^;tion>«, and very likely in three or : . .- . --.c/i Khe 
will come W;k to you and buy one twice a>} goo^i ! 

There in a prevailing faith in tlie country district* 
that the urban dry'g«^^><l» clerk i>j a Ixiing of predtemat- 
ural lifinUinmi, that he can ^ktojct character at a glance, 
and discern in^.tantane<^>u>.ly VMween tfie righteous and 
the wicked, if thi» is a corre^.'t opinion, it must be 



282 ■nrj':L\K Mi^ riiOM A lk.vox. 

admittod that thoiv niv oxooptional cases ol' outrai;vons 
stupidity, and that these exeoptions aiv liable to make 
a greater ado and deeper impres^sion than the shrewd 
and keen majority, li would seem, sonietinies, as if 
clerks understood dry-uoods, and nothing else. Silk 
and velvet, tlowers and llonnces, they appreciate, but 
words, modulations, manners, they count lor iiotliing. 
U" a woman's culture shows itself in elegant, elaborate, 
expensive dress, that they comprehend, to that they 
deter. But culture that has of choice or by force oi' 
circumstances boon expended in other diroctioits they 
know nothing about. They can uot see it. They do 
not miss it. Long companionship with dry-goods seems 
to have given thorn a sense oi' dv\-iX*-^(\U, and \o have 
stripped them oi' every other. 

A plainly but perfectly dressed lady, with the best 
blood of the worUl in her veins, and - -what is more 
imposing to the haberdashing heart — with plenty of 
money in her pocket, \Yent not long since into a shop to 
buy napkins. The potentate of the counter showed her 
such napery as he thought suited to her social pL-)sition. 
"These are rather co.irse,'' she suggested. "Have you 
none tiner?'' "Oh ves,"'said the gentleman, "but thcv 
are more expensive. It is ever to be regretted that 
the lady turned in silence and lefi the shop, because that 
clerk will never know that it was his own idiotic ef- 
frontery, and not the expense of the naj^kins, which lost 
him the customer. 

A lady who never made any great figure in tho world, 
and certainly not in a water-jiroof cloak on a rainy ilay, 
was socking a parasol. The cloj-k showed her some 



TllK FASHIONS. 28'j 

very common, not to say shabby, specimens, wbicli she 
declined. A little further down the counter she bought 
a whole piece of fine and costly linen, observing which, 
the knight of the parasols came down and begged her 
to re-examine his assortment, of which he had contrived 
to unearth an altogether different and haiUiv collection. 
She, too, fell below the requirements of the occasion, and 
bought her parasol without enlightening him upon her 
discovery of his stupid mistake. 

A lady, large and lovely, a serene Quaker goddess, 
made some benevolent casual remark to the clerk with 
whom she was trafficking, just as she would have patted 
the head of a strange dog who might have run up and 
sniffed at her gown, and the little whipper-snapper clerk 
followed her to the door, and — winked at her! And 
while she stood staring at him in her first amazed con- 
sciousness of his individual existence, he winked again! 
Thus vacuous do the gods make a human skull, yet 
furnish it with all the ganglia of life. 

Happy those merchants who can secure the right sort 
of clerks ! for a right sort there is. I bought a table- 
cloth of him yesterday. I had forgotten to take the 
size of the table, or a pattern of the color to be matched. 
Patiently he evolved my probable needs from my frag- 
mentary facts, discussed pleasantly the presumptive ev- 
idence, and seemed as much interested in the harmonies 
of my dining-room as if he had expected to eat there 
thrice a day for the remainder of his natural life. Did 
he deceive me? Not a bit. I know of a surety that 
my dining-room was no more to him than the peanut- 
stand on the common opposite. Me and it has he al- 



284 TWJELVE MILES FliOM A LEMON. 

ready alike forgotten. None tbc less was liis moment- 
ary and friendly, but not familiar, assumption of inter- 
est in me and mine altogether winning and encouraging; 
and doubtless also was it, for that moment, altogether 
sincere. Ilis sympathetic and refined nature does un- 
questionably and spontaneously ally itself for succor and 
good cheer to all who appeal to him. May his kind 
heart, his welcoming face, and his engaging manners be 
a mine of wealth to himself and all his employers and 
dependents! 

Not to all men arc given that grace and graciousness, 
serviceable, not servile, which distinguish a seller of 
sacques in a warehouse I wot of. A sacque, rich and 
fine, but not overloaded with trimming, nor grotesque 
in cut, requires the quest of a Sir Galahad, and Sir Ga- 
lahad was there to make it. With indescribable deftness 
and swiftness he overturned pile after pile of garments, 
making running comments as he went: "This is good 
materia], but too low on the shoulder ; this has too 
deep a collar ; this too loud a trimming. If this were 
a quieter shade! Ah! here it is! and here! Or you 
may like this." And out they came, shapely and sober. 
And if they had been gorgeous, I suspect the lady would 
liardly have known it, so won over was she by his read}- 
helpfulness. And when he brought a brush, and assist- 
ed her in disengaging her folds from the dust of our 
long drought with a dexterity wholly free from officious- 
ness, he needed but to speak the word, and she would 
have bought every sacque in the shop. 

Dry-goods clerking is bad business. There needs no 
ghost to tell us that. It is petty and show3^ It takes 



THE FASHIONS. 285 

women at their weakest — when they arc self-centred 
and eager. It would seem to give men scarce any play 
of mind or muscle. They have only to stand, white and 
waiting, busy "to irritation, or frenzied with idleness — 
forever babbling the price of a ninepenny calico or a 
spool of cotton. But it is not a business made any bet- 
ter by brazenness and bullying. Modesty, courtesy, gen- 
tleness, patience toward the good, and also toward the 
froward, serve as excellent a purpose here as elsewhere. 
Among his mantles and his wimples and his crisping- 
pins, as truly as among shattering trumpets and splin- 
tered spear-shafts, will Sir Galahad keep fair, through 
faith and prayer, his manly and upright heart. 

After all, this matter is not so wholly one-sided as it 
seems. True, the Country goes up to the City to shop, 
but the City goes down to the Country for the substance 
of shopping. The City knows only its shop-windows. 
The Country drinks at the fountain-head whence the 
shop-windows derive their splendor. Is it new colors 
that inventors are bending all their ingenuity to create? 
A late essayist suggested that there are colors which 
the eye can not yet perceive, and which it never will 
perceive without more exquisite powers — the result of 
fine and elaborate training. I wish the writer would 
look down into my swamp, and see if we have not al- 
ready as many colors as there is any call for. 

It may not be generally known that the world was 
never so beautiful as it is in this year of our Lord, 
eighteen seventy-three. Nature is infinite, not simply 
in colors but in shades. We speak of "grass green," 
as if every blade of grass had been plunged into one 



286 TWULVU MILES FR03I A LEMON. 

dye-pot. But in a single pasture stretching before my 
eyes, close-croiDped by browsing cows, the ground is 
mottled and many-hued as a Persian carpet, yet never 
other than green. There are little dimples of deep ver- 
dure, and one hollow, bent above by an old apple-tree 
nearly blown down, but recovering itself at the last 
moment, and transfixed at an acute angle. Into that 
hollow all the summer rains settle and all the spring 
snows drift. On it the ice sparkles and shelters, and 
now its soft slope is a velvet sward, thick and line and 
vivid, and wholly unlike the yellow-green of the up- 
land and the bare, bronzed, faded verdancy of the 
bumps that one can hardly call hillocks. Close by is a 
field of cabbages, or turnips, or some such homely es- 
culent ; but there is no homeliness in its level sweep of 
pallid green, which is far removed from the hues of my 
pasture land. Then the brown lines of the railroad 
dart across the landscape, adding force and law to beau- 
ty, their unerring precision a pleasant foil to nature's 
wildness. Beyond, the fields, too, are turning brown, 
and the river lounges lazily by, and the long low woods 
skirt its banks; and my swamp — ah, the splendor of 
those trees ! Every clump is a bouquet, selected and ar- 
ranged as if with the view of bringing out the strength 
and glow of each : bright flaming scarlet and cypress 
green, wine-hued and perfect amber, warm crimsons, 
and yellows of the brightest and the softest — gradations 
and blendings of a marvelous delicacy and an endless 
variety. 

Yet sometimes, for all the gold and scarlet, I think 
nothing is quite so lovely as brown. The swamp is 



THE FASHIONS. 287 

bordered with ferns. The old stone walls, rough and 
tumbling, that mark the road are overcrept and over- 
swept with blackberry vines and tansy and golden-rod, 
with sunflower and the purple endive, wild brake, and 
gowan, the dandelion of the fall — a tawny tangle ; but 
the rich ferns prevail, lending their deep, soft russet, all 
mellow, yellow tints, to the afternoon sun, to be shot 
through and through with his golden fire. Then does 
Nature's true worshiper long for a brown silk gown to 
wear in these autumn days, and be in harmony with the 
earth — a brown silk, russet and lustrous and shimmer- 
ing, gold in the sun, grave in the shade, pliant to Na- 
ture's moods, like the fern and the blackberry vine, that 
scorn to glow and glitter when their lord, the sun, goes 
down. 

I saw a bird yesterday in an elegant steel-colored 
polonaise of two shades, with black trimmings. It was 
perfect in cut and combination ; and if he would but 
have stayed twittering on my apple-tree long enough for 
an artist to catch his style, I would have sent to the 
city a fall fashion which should have bewildered even 
the belles of Broadway. There is nothing to be com- 
pared to the quiet elegance of birds. The fields and 
the trees are inexhaustibly ingenious, but their taste is 
hardly chastened enough for minute and accurate imi- 
tation. A maple-tree walking down street would be in 
danger of being followed by gamins; and even the so- 
berer elm and the presently-to-be-crimsoned oak would 
run the risk of being called garish and ga}''. But the 
little birds hop up, dainty and delicate. Is it mode 
color your suits shall be? No gray is so soft, no nap 



288 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

SO smooth, as theirs, and the briglitness comes in little 
dashes — dots and tips and fringes, in sheen and quiver 
and evanescence — an effect rather than a vision. 

But when I saw near Calisto2;a the flower which the 
old Spaniards named mariposa — butterfly — with its 
broad, apricot-tinted, wing-like petals, dashed with a 
maroon velvet as soft in tissue as the purple of the 
heart's-ease, I saw at once where Monsieur Worth found 
the great first cause of Madame Nightingale's gown. 
No wonder he has made his name illustrious, if he has 
gone to the birds and the butterflies and the blossoms 
for his patterns! Why not follow him, though with 
unequal steps? Why puzzle over color complications, 
when a pansy in your garden will tell you what goes 
with what? Why pay to a foreigner untold heaps of 
money for his dictum, when a bird of the air shall carry 
thQ voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the mat- 
ter? We cry out against the ugliness of the rough 
earthen jars in which our plants are potted. Rough 
and ugly they are, but have wc mended the matter 
when we store our slips in glazed vases, painted a bright 
and shining green, which kills all the color out of the 
plants? Nature puts all her brightness into leaf and 
blossom, and makes the boles of her trees as rough and 
brown as possible, dowered only with their rugged 
strength, which bears all the beauty aloft. Let us also 
be rough and rugged as to the bases of our flower-pots, 
for 'tis our nature too. 

I will go down into my swamp and stud3^ It is rain- 
ing delightful showers, but I love the drip of the leaves 
and the saucy slap of wet boughs, and the artists say 



THE FASHIONS. 289 

that gray days are the da3^s for color. We have had a 
surfeit of sunshine for three weeks of hazy delight. Let 
us go out to welcome this delicious rain, and come home 
laden with leaves more ruddy than the rose petals of 
our last lost June, with golden boughs more lovely than 
that whose variegated gleam shone through the Sibyl- 
line grove into the eyes of pious .^neas. 

" Oh, you can't get leaves !" cries Faintheart. " They 
are so high up. You must have a man and a ladder." 
A man and a ladder! Bring hither a water-proof and 
a pair of rubber boots, and leave your ladders and men 
to their own destruction. Is not my swamp amply sup- 
plied with hassocks on purpose to step (?n ? Are there 
no branches to cling to, that one must bring men and 
ladders? Nay, has not Nature herself leveled a tree 
for our climbing? There lies he, a prostrate monarch, 
but so strong that from the uptorn earth still clinging 
to his roots he extracts the juices of life, and still nur- 
tures all his tender le.aves, and still drinks for his au- 
tumn glory the mystic blood-red wine. Safe seated on 
his fallen trunk, safe housed among his supporting 
branches, what need of men or ladders ? Here is the 
musical tinkle of the rain on the leaves, the soft rustle 
of the leaves in the wind. Here is a carpet which the 
Shah might strangle his ministers for, and a canopy 
which might task the fairies' wand. Ilere life gathers 
its forces for a final stand against wintry death, and here 
shall victory prevail, for in these hidden nooks green 
grow the rashes O through all the furious winter's 
rages. 

13 



290 TWELVE MILEU FIWM A LEMON. 



XVI. 
SLEEP AND SICKKESS. 

The one requisite to good heallb, good looks, sweet 
temper, prosperity in business, and general success in 
life, is sleep, I do not know whether we shall be able, 
as Matthew Arnold says, to " hit it off happily " with 
Solomon. It is, perhaps, not quite easy to tell exact- 
ly what he had in his mind ; but if he meant that people 
should try to (?lit down their slecj) to the smallest pos- 
sible allowance, it may be supcrlluous, but it is certain- 
ly irresistible, to remark that I do not agree with him. 
But he probably did not mean that, lie certainly 
would not be likely to dilVer from me. 

The necessity of sleep, it may be admitted, is a dis- 
agreeable neccssit}'-. To turn aside from all the pleas- 
ures of life, from the sweet consciousness of existence, 
to give over thought and love and memory and hope — 
all plans and pursuits — and go down into forgetfulness 
or unconsciousness, is, or seems to be, an unspeakable 
loss. It is a death, temporar}^ but imjicrious and ever- 
recurring. Yet it is so universal, so gradual, so natu- 
ral, that we yield to it not only without dread, but with 
delight. In the silent splendor of star-lit nights, which 
seem to put us on a brotherly footing with the whole 
universe, in the blackness of nights that know no star, 
when w^e seem to be standing alone in the solitude of 
eternity, life is too fascinating, ajid we begrudge a mo- 



hLEEP AND SICKNESS. 291 

merit lost; but even then, without will, against will, the 
heavy eyelids droop, and, all unhindered, the sly soul 
slips away into some remote recess of the brain to lie 
in ambush for the rising dawn and the strong new 
world. 

If we could have been made to get along without 
sleep, I should like it better, but since sleep we must, 
why should we quarrel with fate? Our ancestors, 
stanch men in many regards, have yet done the world 
harm by their indiscriminate abuse of sleep. One would 
think, to read some books, that slumber was an inven- 
tion of the Evil One, to be repressed and snubbed con- 
tinually. On the contrary, sleep comes nearer being a 
panacea than any pill or potion ever concocted. 

In the country, people sometimes become so demoral- 
ized on the subject that early rising takes on the pro- 
portions of a vice. I have an inward conviction that 
the farmers from the outskirts snap their whips with 
fresh unction as they go by our village houses in the 
early morning, exulting in tljc thought that they are 
up and about while we sluggards have scarcely rubbed 
our eyes open. I have heard a family admiringly 
spoken of because it rose, breakfasted, and had prayers 
before the dawn had fairly reddened the east. Can such 
prayers be acceptable ? Our people do, indeed, yield 
to the truth of history so far as to tell children of 
beauty-sleep, and bid them go to bed early; but they 
forget all about it in the morning, and stimulate them 
to early rising. Indeed, ignorance and folly sometimes 
go so far as to awaken children for the purpose of get- 
ting them up, which is just not murder in the first de- 



21)2 



TWh'Uh' MII.HS Fi;oM ,1 l./.'MO.X. 



gnn>. IjMV it' tlowii ;is llic iiilc t»r fninily lil'f tli;it. no- 
body is lo 1)(< wnkcd liv (wIitii.mI imcmiis. TliriM iniiy 
1)0 oxtriiordinury cii^Miiiislaiicrs wliirli Juslify u viohi- 
iioii of ilin rul(\ If tlui lioiiso is on fin", !uul liaiul and 
Ktcuni cnjMncs liiil lo cxtin.'Miisli llic llnnics, sIccpcrH 
mnsl. 1)0 ai'ou.sml; bul, ovumi tlion ho^in with tlioso nour- 
csL tlio (ii'o, ami hostir oUiors only as \\\v (laiisfor advan- 
ces. I suppose^ il. is altsoliitrl V cciliiin llial wlirn a, man 
lias slopt loni^ onon^ii lio will wakti of his own aooord. 

Tho timo a,l. wliio>h sl(>op is laJ<on is of loss aooouni, 
than llio amount, of sleep. 1 1" il, can he h;id in dark- 
iioss, douhlJoss iJial, is host; but, sloop by daylij^hl, is ii 
good thiiifjj loo. Sonio poopl(> lako (^'odil, to tluunsolvos 
for nocoinplisliin;^ miieh belbi-o bre.'dJ'asI, but after 
breakfast ar(> oonstantly J'ound nappini; on tho sofa or 
noddin;.'; in the lounging ohair. What superior virtue 
is tJier(> in sIo(>ping by instaJlment to sleeping in tho 
luni])'/ Some people are called Ia/,y booauso tJiey tako 
a na|) after a noonday dinner; but tho odioionoy of tlioir 
waking hours is a, sndioiont justHii'.ation for thoir iniib 
day roposo. Sleep nnvwlier<^ and ("verywhei'o is j'Ood. 
Ministers ooniplain if horo and there a mendier ol'lJioir 
c.ongrt^gation grows drowsy ; but as I look mound and 
soo the hard \vorkin<>; men and women, all clean ami 
\\vs\\ and smooth in thoir Sunday suits, shell(M-ed from 
sun, released from toil, and soothed by tho ])Ioasaiit voioo 
of a well beloved j);istor into a, slii^htly unsteady but 
riohly oarned rojjoso, 1 bless them unawai'o. Ni)t tho 
least of th(! in;iny bonofils wrought us by tho olorgy is 
the sweot somnolence which so fvutly and benii'idy 
broods over a, weary and hnpjiv con"Tee;:ition on a sul- 



,'-ii,i':i':i' A Nit sK'KNicsM. '^O;; 

try Siiml.'iy nlldniooii. Vovc oi(lin;il,io(i :iri(| ricc-wiU 
riKiy 1m; Ii.'U'I I.o iccoiicih; ; iiiofjiJ ;tiii| n.-iUiral ((■.■•iponHl- 
hiliiy inuy be didiculL (jT (liMcriiniiKiUoii ; l,lj(i bcaiiti^^ of 
clcclioii oM (lijl,y in riol- ciisy l.o h<:(:; hul, jk) jiijui r,u.\\ i/o 
into an niry, |)li:a;;;inL (■.\ntii:\\^ !-;it, down in j)cac,c, ainon^i; 
liis IVifind;-! and n<;i;.dil>orH, and I'all Hollly uhIcc)) t,o IJm; 
Hound of holy wordn IVoin holy lij)H, wiUiont j.M"<;iit, f^'lin 
l,o l,h<; hfi; iJiat, now in, and, I bciicv*; and IrUHt, with no 
JoKH U) iJial, whi(;h in to couk;. 

Ah for Na))ol(!<Mi and iJi*; (>l,h<:rH who aic brandi;-,hcd 
ov':c iiM an ha.vin;'; vvfon;-'lil ihcii' I'vcul dct'dn on lour 
hourw' hI(;<![), iti thu Oi'hL jdac(5 I do Jiol, bcUovo u word 
of it, and in \.\\(i Hccond ])hi(;c!, if lluiy did, it, wjim })m1, an 
C'XC(!i)l,ion ; and wc ini^dit JiiHt uh well pnl, our cyca oul, 
bccauHO IJomor wrolc iJie "Iliad" wilJiout, any, as to 
rub open our (jycH al, four o'cKjc,!.- in ihe niornin^^ Ixj- 
onuHO Nu[)ol(;ori ulept, foui' h<iurM in hi.', ;-;a.ddl<'. One 
man's iKtcij i:-i no ruN; for anol.her niaii'ii life. Then) in 
bul, one infallible I'ule for l,he nleejiern, ihal, every one 
KleejtH till he waken of liiniHelf; uiid for the uwuke, that 
Ihcy HJiut the doorn Koftly, ho UH not to dJHturb thone 
wl)0 are anleej). TIiIh Ih the whojc duty of man. 

If (jiie Khoidd de'.sir'e a i'cw little He'r;ondary rul(;«, it 
might l>e well to warn him w/ji'wihI Helf-glorificatior), 
Neitlier rihing early availeth any thin;/, iioi" riHJng late. 
The wiHe man who uned to ri.se with the Huri or beforo 
it in oureopy bookH tnuy have, b'cn fooli:-,li in ;-;o d<mj/.^, 
but rniiKt have been focjIiHh if he baned hin wii-;dom (ni liiH 
early riisirig, 'I'lic que^•:tiotl in, WhatdoeH he do after he 
JH up? The <'arly l>iid han been eatehing the worm for 
many ;'eu<-rati(MiK, but I never heard that the late- bii<l 



29-1 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

starved for lack of worms ; and what of the owl and 
the bat, who do not get up at all till honest folks are in 
bed? 

Ah, no! Solomon's sluggard was doubtless a worth- 
less fellow, who slept as lazily as he wrought, and did 
every thing by halves. When a sound soul craves a 
little more sleep, a little more slumber, it is a sign that 
he needs it, and his first duty is to take it. Nature 
knows when there has been sleep enough, and makes us 
aware by the clear brain and the steady nerve and the 
blood alert; and then there needs not bell nor voice, 
but only the inward prompting, to set our life astir. 

Sleep is the preventive and the cure of disease. 
Lack of sleep opens the door to every malady under 
heaven. Sleep, the shadow of death, is the minister of 
life. Plunder of sleep may give a phantom of life, but 
it is the herald and the preparer of death. 

Yet I suspect there is a great deal of dread and sym- 
pathy wasted on illness, llealth should be the habit of 
life, but sickness, too, has its sunny side. I am inclined 
to think it is the friends and attendants of sick peo- 
ple who have the worst of it, and not the sick people 
themselves. This is certainly the case in some forms 
of illness. When you are in the depths, you do not 
know it. When you can not breathe, other people are 
alarmed, and forecast possibilities; for yourself, you 
think neither of past nor future, but only of breathing. 
There have been people who in moments of great dan- 
ger had great thoughts, as if the soul bloomed in the 
sudden eternal light to wondrous power. I must con- 
fess to only the most commonplace experiences. Once 



SLEEP AND tilCKNEtSS. 295 

I was thrown from a carriage directly under the horse. 
I heard — I might almost say felt — his fierce pawing 
close to my head, and all that my stupid soul could say 
to itself was, " He has not hit me this time, but perhaps 
he will the next, and it will kill me. Nor this time ei- 
ther," May not the final transit be in itself as common- 
place, as little momentous? In spite of all the terrors 
of the theologies and the mysteries of the metaphysics, 
death is as natural as birth. Who can tell that we do 
not pass through the one as through the other, all un- 
aware? Life opens before the little one bright and 
beautiful, wrapped around with love and tenderness, 
but whence and how he came he knows as little as the 
pink-petaled rose-bud opening to the June sun. So 
may it not be that Death clasps close the parting soul 
in dreamless natural repose, leaving to the living all 
the pain, while the dead, forever alive, wakes wonder- 
ingly to the glory that shall be? 

We hear of illness around us every day. Nay, in 
some dim and distant past, some vague remote Egyp- 
tian antiquity, wc seem to see a vision of scarlet fever 
and whooping-cough, of chicken-pox and measles, and 
vaccination and pennyroyal tea, and housing and pet- 
ting, in which we ourselves have played a prominent 
part. But strong with inherited vigor and country air, 
and wholesome lack of training, and free, wild, generous 
living, you have grown up, dear friend, in robust, not 
to say defiant, health, and have carried all along your 
manhood or womanhood an indomitable, irrepressible 
physical force and activity which have, perhaps, even 
surged over upon your mental characteristics, and made 



296 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

you the least in the world arrogant, scornful, exacting, 
exultant, where you otherwise would have been, let us 
hope, the yqvj pink of meekness and modesty. 

Ah ! good friend, exult no more. Even for you Ne- 
mesis waits. Even you are approaching your bound- 
ary lines, though you know it not, or even were aware 
that for you existed limitations. 

So you go plunging into the swamp and paddling 
through the "slush" of our unrelenting weather, and 
never heed the obstacles. Obstacles are made not to 
be counted, but surmounted. Each day has its visit, 
its business, its excursion, its engagement, and if the 
day cqmes with blinding sleet, or whirling snow, or icy 
rain, so much the worse for rain and sleet and snow, 
but away yow go. There has never occurred to you 
the possibility of being beaten in any contest whatever. 
What said General Upton when the committee suggest- 
ed that in his work on tactics were to be found no rules 
for the arrangement of a surrender? "That, sir, is a 
thing w'hich should never be provided for in an Ameri- 
can army !" Bravo, General Upton ! 

But there comes a night on which you go to bed 
with the delightful consciousness of aims accomplished, 
and in fifteen minutes are surprised that, instead of its 
being morning, it is still the same day you went to bed, 
and 3'ou are, moreover, aware of your left shoulder. 
Unhappy ! the only health is unconsciousness. Your 
intangible idea develops into a distinct ache in the top 
of that dreadful left shoulder, which no change of po- 
sition, no determination to fix j'our mind on some other 
subject, will remove. You make Herculean efforts to 



SLEEP AND SICKNESS. 297 

forget that shoulder, but in vain. The ache resolves 
itself into a well-defined pain, and the pain becomes ad- 
venturous, and organizes exploring expeditions north- 
ward and southward, eastward and westward, and your 
time is beguiled by the lively interest you take in its 
progress and enterprises. Now your chest seems a great 
cave full of stalagmites and stalactites, and the stalag- 
mites and stalactites are all luminous, brilliant, crystal- 
ized pain.' Now it is a little imp alight on your shoul- 
der, clutching it harder and harder, and a whole legion 
of little imps pour after him, and spin down your nerves, 
and follow along every avenue of sense and blood and 
breath, gnawing, gnawing, gnawing with monotonous 
persistence and ever-growing power. From force of 
habit you fall asleep, and are startled awake again, and 
still those imps are at it. It was amusing for a while, 
but it presently becomes tiresome, and then exaspera- 
ting. There is a point beyond which even novelty ceases 
to interest, and the ice-cold night was never so mighty. 
It broods over you like a pall, discouraging, deadening. 
And the little imps have so possessed themselves of you 
that they have fairly driven you out of your strong- 
holds. You dare not go down into your own lungs, 
but only hang on to breath by your eyelids, and every 
short, shallow gasp is a sharp pain. But you battle 
through the night with fitful sleep, and weary, won- 
dering waking, thinking longingly of sunshine and the 
register, and promising yourself to give the imps a 
sweat if ever daylight comes. Daylight does come and 
sunshine, and the register and the blazing wood fire, 
and mustard and hot iron, and those little malie^nant 

13^ 



298 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

fiends carry the day over them all, dancing and raving 
and raging through your astonished blood. 

Till somebody suggests the doctor. The doctor! It 
is an absurd idea. A doctor is for sickness. Can a 
doctor cast out devils? Sickness is — well, you do nof 
know exactly what, seeing you never had it, but cer- 
tainly not this. This is a horde of minute, riotous evil 
spirits, reckless, spiteful, mocking morsels of demons, 
that have entered into you, and are holding high carni- 
val. But they so occupy your time and attention that 
you make no effective opposition to any plans or pro- 
posals of the outside world ; and presently the doctor 
appears upon the scene, and the outside world somehow 
begins to buzz and darken into a dream, a twilight, a 
sea of unreality, over which the phantoms of familiar 
friends loom unreally, but whose doubtful expanse is 
broken by solid islands of mustard and poultice, and 
batting and bitterness, and across whose sombre silence 
shoot gleams of drollery and grotesque, demure, fantas- 
tic fun. And there is time no longer, nor any division 
of day and night, until a time, times, and the dividing 
of time. 

And this is a "fit of sickness." You were never 
more amazed in your life. Out of the dark, doubtful 
sea you are dragged to the dry land of faint but real 
life, and behold the little imps are beaten off", shut and 
sealed in the caverns whence they swarmed, and there 
never were any imps, and their name was Pneumonia; 
and you see the light that it is good, and you can divide 
the light from the darkness, as in the beginning, and 
you call the light Day, and the darkness you call Night. 



SLEEP AND SICKNESS. 299 

But to think that you, the unassailable, have had "a 
fit of sickness !" And that this is it ! And that this 
strange, bewildering, absorbing, altogether unimagina- 
ble experience has been going on around you from the 
foundation of the world, and you had no more idea of 
it or what it was like than if you had been founded in 
another world ! 

Then comes the weary waiting of convalescence, the 
impatience to up and about, the hunger that may not 
be appeased. Not a bit of it. That is the way people 
talk, but it is not so. Convalescence is a delightful 
border-land between death and life, a Beulah in which 
you love to linger, whose grapes go down sweetly. It 
is a condition in which a perfect consciousness of exist- 
ence is combined with an absolute negation of duties. 
You know that you are a nuisance, a cumberer of the 
ground, 

"Whom none can love, whom none can thank, 
Creation's blot, creation's blank," 

and you do not care. The furnace fires may go out, 
the wine-cellar run dry, the tank overflow, the barrel 
of meal waste, and the cruse of oil fail ; but you are 
certain that your thermometer will be cared for, that 
your sherry-glass will never be empty, and 3'ou lie in a 
fine though feeble disdain for all these carking cares. 
People can not find things: let them hunt. The dray- 
men are swearing outside, but it is no business of 3^ours 
to show them how to get the coal into the cellar. The 
world is going on, and you have no responsibility what- 
ever about the order of its going. This is the true joy 
of convalescence. This is the way to make illness a 



*SV 



;500 TWELVE MILES FROM A'LEMOX. 

means of grace. If you go caring for other people, 
you might as well be well. But to lie in tranquil and 
luxurious inertia, absolutely devoid of energy, without 
purpose, without conscience, without thought, wholly 
selfish, and unprickcd in 3'our selfishness — it is no 
mean paradise. Life is so full that it is an exquisite 
satisfaction for once, and for a time, to find it empty. 
The hours and the days lapse languid!}'-, and you have 
had a fortnight of bliss in the process and blank in the 
memor}^, and by that time, ten to one, your soul is astir 
again — but the pause was delicious. 

Hungry, did you say? There are terrible traditions 
of fever-parched lips which ignorance forbade to moist- 
en, and fever-wasted frames which food might not up- 
build. "Who has not his story to tell of some conva- 
lescent ancestor who escaped his keeper and devoured, 
clandestinel}'', but with impunity, a whole mince-pie be- 
fore be was discovered by horror-smitten friends? But 
we have changed all that. The doctors nowada3's are 
a friendly folk, and prophesy smooth things. Water? 
Yes, indeed, as much as you like. Milk? The more 
the better. Eat whatever you wish, and whenever you 
choose, and as long as 3'ou can. The Old School Pres- 
bj'-ter}'^ stand around astonished ; but, strong in the law, 
you eat steadfastly on with mild convalescent defiance^ 
and climb steadily back to strength. Against such proof 
there is no law. And the neighbors send in their best 
canned strawberries, and apple jellies, and currant wine, 
and you swallow them all with only moderate gratitude, 
not to say placid indifference. So far from being in a 
hurrv to cro back into the world again, vou want nothing; 



r 



SLEEP AND filCKNESH. 301 

but to be let alone. The turmoil, the eagerness, tbe busy- 
ness seem to you so aimless. A and B and C go by ev- 
ery day regularly to meet the morning trains. What 
folly ! as if it made any difference whether they met 
the train or not. But your exclamation-point is a very 
small one. You are not to be disturbed by deep emo- 
tions of any sort. The din of the outside world comes 
softly to your ears. Since the din is not unmusical, 
very well ; but the world might as wisely be silent. 
Why should you get up? It is easier to stay in bed. 
But who ivants to be strong? It is just as comfortable 
to be weak. 

"Far or forgot to mc is near ; 

Sliadow and sunlight are the same ; 
The vanished gods to me appear ; 
And one to me arc shame and fame." 

Ah ! Providence has wisely ordered it. Sickness is 
too luxurious a thing to last. Canned strawberries for- 
ever would eat the life out of immortality itself. Peace 
and tranquillity and unruffled seas are not of this world. 
For this world, whatever come hereafter, activity and 
endeavor, research and doubt, and balancing and adjust- 
ing, house-guiding and money-earning, social service, 
dress-coats, and a thousand narrow ruffles to be lined 
and bound with the same in a different shade. Why, 
here you are, clean out of dry-dock, under full head of 
steam, plowing mid-ocean through the surf and spray 
of sundered metaphors as aforetime, and all that past of 
silence and serenity, and grass-grown streets and mossy 
walls, is already as a dream when one awaketh. 

Mr. Bachelor — the Chevalier Bayard of our age, as 



302 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

one foolishly and fondly saith ; but that I must disallow : 
I liave a private Ba3\ard or two of my own who must 
not be discrowned. All the honors of the indefinite ar- 
ticle I freely grant, na}'', gladly pay you. In a republic 
of Bayards you shall hold a high place, or, if a king- 
dom there must be, 3'ou shall salute with royal grace 
messieurs mes fr^res ! — 

Chevalier Bayard, you have been ill, say the newspa- 
pers, in curt itemic phrase. A brother in unity reaches 
forth to you the right hand of fellowship in that good- 
ly and gracious experience. You are just beginning to 
sit up, they report, and mean thereby only a S3miptom. 
But I know how the foundations of the world drop 
away beneath your feet under that first feeble rising. 
Courage, my brother, I do not say. I rather counsel 
cowardice! Be weak, if3'0u would quit 3^ourself like 
a man ! Your great prototype, no doubt, in typhoid 
fever called for drink like a sick girl. Do not control 
yourself. Let the well people do that. Be petulant, be 
querulous, be imperious and exacting. It is a sign that 
you will recover. And above all things, do not hurry 
matters. You may never be ill again as long as you 
live. It is your one chance for leisure and luxury and, 
absolute despotism. Be wise to-da^'-, 'tis madness to de- 
fer. If they force you from the friendly couch, cling 
to the almost as friendly lounge. Battle, then, for the 
reclining chair. Make a stand on dressing-gown and 
slippers. Go not out-doors till the last guu is fired. 
Who breathes the outside air is lost to all the privileges 
and immunities of illness. Onewhohasbeenthereatura 
tc salutat ! 



DINNERS. 303 



XVII. 

BINNEBS. 

Wisdom is justified of her children. What is best 
for the soul is best for the body, and the good of the 
body is the good of the soul. Self-denial has its own 
sphere ; but, in the long run^ that which is most pleas- 
ant is most salutary. Certainly, then, we make some 
mistakes in our domestic arrangements. Our dinners 
are not proof of mortal infallibility. It is not necessary 
to advocate abstemiousness. The notion sometimes pro- 
mulgated that we should rise from the table as hungry 
as we sat down may be consistently advocated by board- 
ing-house keepers, but is tolerably sure to receive from 
the rest of the world the neglect which it merits. The 
only creed for rational beings embraces what is called 
"a square meal" — plenty of food, varied and agreeable, 
and freedom to eat till you are satisfied. But do we 
not give undue prominence to puddings and pies, while 
the superfluity and unwholesomeness of dinners lie in 
the pudding and pie department more than in any oth- 
er? In the country the temptation is strong. Milk 
and eggs, sugar and raisins, are always at command, and 
a pudding, therefore, is a steadfast friend. But meat, 
though spasmodically abundant, is somewhat precarious, 
both in quality and appearance. Beefsteak may be had 
for the asking, if you speak in season, but a juicy and 



304 TWELVE MILES FJROIT A LEMON. 

tender steak is a gift of tlie gods vouchsafed at uncer- 
tain intervals. As for vegetables, they are a lost art. 
According to Hume, no testimony should be allowed to 
establish an occurrence which is contrary to our expe- 
rience. In spite, therefore, of horticultural tradition, I 
believe that vegetables do not grow from the soil, but 
flourish only in the city markets. Meat and vegetables, 
however, are far more wholesome than pies and pud- 
dings, and, moreover, an abundant and varied supply of 
them dispenses with the call for sweetmeats. A dinner 
of beefsteak and potatoes leaves something to be de- 
sired ; but if corn and beans, succotash, macaroni, squash, 
and onions, pickles, apple-sauce, and cranberrj^, be pro- 
vided in judicious installments, the dinner becomes a 
sufficient meal without further foraging. A cup of cof- 
fee or tea, bread and cheese and fruit, are all that the 
epicure need further ask. In Sweden and Northern 
Europe generally we are told that far greater simplici- 
ty obtains than among us. Heavy and elaborate des- 
serts are dispensed with, and hard black bread and 
cheese crowninsc the dinner is a dish to set before a 
king. And so sure is Nature to be true to herself that 
even our own pampered compatriots learn to love this 
simplicity, and write home abusive letters about Amer- 
ican tables that are no more heavily laden than were 
their own up to the moment of their departure. I have 
even known Americans to become so enamored of for- 
eign frugality as to import casks of brown bread from 
Sweden wherewithal to garnish the family board. But 
who ever heard of a Danish pie or a Norwegian pud- 
ding on its travels? 



DINNERS. 305 

Vegetable food is not only more wholesome than 
sweets, but far easier to prepare. It is more simply 
cooked. The ignorant servant can learn its processes 
far sooner than the more labored combinations of cake 
and pastry. And when she has mastered the eternal 
harmonies, and knows what goes with what, she needs 
only general orders, and not constant surveillance. The 
barrel of bread and cheese does the rest. Talk of a 
horn of plenty ! 

AVhen we country folk hear of the state dinners eat- 
en by city folk, wherein a dozen courses follow each 
other in brief and brilliant succession, we are wont to 
thank Heaven that loe are not as this Prodigal. But if 
just balances could be procured, I more than half sus- 
pect the "heavy feeding" would be found on the side 
of American rather than French dinners. Look, for 
example, at the regulation state dinner of the farm- 
house and the rural community. Turkey as the head- 
centre, fattened and stuffed to the last degree of rich- 
ness ; all available vegetables, sauces, and sweet pickles ; 
plum-pudding; mince, apple, and squash pie; cranber- 
ry tart; sweet cider — always sweet cider — coffee, tea, 
and cheese. There are people still living who think 
the Thanksgiving board incomplete without a boiled 
dish at the head ; often a goose and a turkey hunt in 
couples down its laden level. Now you have only to 
drive this team tandem instead of abreast, and immedi- 
ately you have a twelve-in-hand as antic as any French- 
man can display. But because you choose to marshal 
your tidbits all at once and all o'er with a mighty up- 
roar, I do not know that you are any more frugal, sini- 



306 TWJJLVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

pie, or democratic than your neighbor who prefers to 
have his in rehajs. AVhen we add to the city dinner, 
the time devoted to eating it, the interspersed wines, 
which are an aid to digestion if not to devotion, the su- 
perior attractiveness of its dissolving views to the whole 
solid Sebastopol before which we sit down at our 
Thanksgiving festival, there is surely something to be 
said on both sides. 

The time consumed in dinners is often spoken of as 
if it w^ere a burden which neither our fathers nor we 
are able to bear. So it would be if we gave the two or 
three hours to solid eating. But, as things go, dinners 
may be, and often are, one of the most agreeable forms 
which social intercourse takes on. There is always — 
or at least there can be — a degree of fitness and harmo- 
ny in the guests. There are order and tranquillity, and 
a field for all sorts of verbal entertainment. Even an in- 
different neighbor is tolerable if the company be not so 
large as to forbid e:eneral conversation ; if it be, of course 
the dinner loses its saving clause, and your salvation 
depends upon your vicinage. But compared with the 
crush and clamor of evening parties, their wear and 
tear of voice and vesture, or the insipid ruralities of the 
picnic, where Nature and Life meet and mock each oth- 
er, dinners seem a diversion worthy of human beings. 

I should be sorry to seem to advocate the use of wine 
at dinner. But if we banish wine, we ought also to 
banish the profusion for which wine is the only pallia- 
tive. No doubt it would be healthier for us all to use 
such moderation in our feasts that there would be no 
call for any stimulant. But the country deacon just as 



DINNERS. 307 

often as the city merchant sets before us a task to which 
unassisted nature is -wholly incompetent. Yet temper- 
ance in eating is just as truly a Christian duty as absti- 
nence in drinking. Probably, indeed, the number of 
those who fall into the temptation of eating too much 
at our overladen tables is far greater than of those who 
fall into the temptation of drinking to excess. The city 
and country alike, then, put a knife to their neighbor's 
throat, knowing him to be a man given to appetite — 
the country, I maintain, whetting it a little sharper, 
holding it a little closer, and pressing it a little harder 
than the city. Is the city, providing a remedy for its 
wrong, though at some hazard, a sinner beyond the 
country, which docs the same wrong, but provides no 
remedy at all ? We are in Holy Writ no more strenu- 
ously warned against wine-bibbers than against riotous 
caters of flesh. The glutton and the drunkard are 
reckoned as yoke-fellows, and bound to the same goal. 
Let us, therefore, be simple and natural, eating our meat 
with gladness and singleness of heart, adding to it all 
the native vegetables and fruits that wise forethought 
and an honest income can command, remembering that, 
though better is a dinner of herbs where love is than a 
stalled ox and hatred therewith, the best thing of all is 
stalled ox garnished with herbs, and presided over by 
a love so wise as not to seek out many inventions of 
sweets and pastry. 

Yet one would not willingly so far depart from the 
faith of his fathers as not to have mince-pies at Thanks- 
giving. Remembering the shelves that of old time used 
to stand loaded with these portentous sweets, the jars 



308 TWELVE MILES FIIOM A LEMOK 

ol' inincc-mcat that were wont to await in silence and 
darkness the hour that should bid them give up their 
juicy store to join the innumerable caravan that, with 
stately and majestic step, trod its eternal circle in and 
out of those closet doors — beginning with Thanksgiv- 
ing, if circles can begin, filing slowing past Christmas, 
past New-year, and reaching well into, and sometimes 
beyond, the depths of midwinter — who am I that I 
should set up a new stantlard, and lly in the face of 
Providence ? Now that we have brought the nation to 
our way of thinking, now that we have set our New 
England festival firm in the affections of the whole peo- 
jile, shall we rob it of one of its chief accompaniments? 
True, mince -pie is not a characteristic of the feast. 
Pumpkin-pies — which the refinements of these later 
days have transformed into squash — are rather the na- 
tive growth of Thanksgiving, while mince-pies are the 
offshoots of Christmas and Merrio England. But long 
habit, common speech, and the Treaty of Washington 
have changed all that; and no Yankee housewife would 
feel that she had made her calling and election sure un- 
til she had garnished her larder with goodly rows of 
flaky and fearful pies. 

I am the more strenuous on this point because I sus- 
pect we are somewhat inclined to take on airs regard- 
ing the past. Am I deceived in fancying that I detect 
a flavor of condescension, not to say of mild contempt, 
toward our ancestors even in our very act of celebra- 
ting their feast? We are not simply and devoutly 
grateful for mercies vouchsafed, but we thank thee, O 
Lord, that we are not as other men are — even these 



DINNERS. 309 

grandfathers. It would seem as if we needed the dis- 
comfort and disadvantage of their lives for a foil to the 
comfort and brilliance of our own. We can not be 
quite happy without assuming that they were misera- 
ble. 

But were our fathers as badly off as we think ? They 
had fewer of the arts and contrivances than wc. They 
brought their water from wells outdoors, and they shiv- 
ered somewhat before their great fires in their great 
rooms. But they never experienced the anguish of 
waking on a winter morning to find an icicle hanging 
stiff from each little silver water-pipe, and the plumber 
twelve miles away, and engaged twelve houses ahead! 
They drew their water in honest buckets, with honest 
well-sweeps, and drank and thanked God, and were 
never bewildered with the various demerits of various 
metals. We send hot air-pipes through our houses like 
veins through the body, and we shelter ourselves with 
double windows and storm-doors, and wonder how they 
of old times survived the winters; but a house near 
by, whose building no man remembers, is a marvel of 
warmth and snugness even to our modern notions. It 
is low -roofed and small- windowed, with panes many 
and minute; but its walls are admirably contrived to 
keep out the cold — which is an excellent thing in North- 
ern houses — and delicate plants, which die in the frosts 
of a modern furnace -heated drawing-room, laugh to 
scorn the long winter nights in this low, large, wood- 
warmed parlor. Our forefathers may never have known 
what it was to be thoroughly comfortable from Decem- 
ber to April, but if they were a little cold around the 



310 TWELVB MILES FR02I A LEMON. 

shoulders, as tbey sat before their blazhig fires, they 
were surely warm around the heart. There is some- 
thing glowing to the imagination in the leap and flick- 
er of flames, and we do not need so much fire to keep 
lis warm, if we can see what fire there is. The straight- 
backed chairs and sanded floors of old were not so lux- 
urious as our easy lounges and heavy carpets; but for 
those very chairs, all stiff and straight as they are, we 
are ready to pay fabulous prices to-day, and the latest 
effort of science, the conclusion of her closest investiga- 
tions, is an urgent request for us all to discard our car- 
pets, which gather dust and shelter miasms, and cher- 
ish, if they do not breed disease, and return to bare 
floors, and health, and vigor. So it seems that in many 
things we have but boxed the compass, and come around 
to very nearly the same point where we found our 
grandfathers. Be sure, those excellent and ever-to-be- 
revered gentlemen had a far more tolerable time of it 
than we usually suspect. 

Yes, and a far more cheerful and jolly time of it. 

We count them good soldiers, devout church-goers, 
prim, virtuous, but rather ascetic ; seldom mirthful, nev- 
er freakish or gamesome, doing even their courting in 
solemn Scriptural phraseology. Fie upon you, narrow- 
minded modern ! Our fathers and mothers, nay, even 
our great -great grandfathers and grandmothers were 
young men and womicn in their day, who ate and 
drank, and made merry, who sang and danced, and — 
shall we say it? — flirted as outrageously as do you, 
youths and maidens, in gay neck-ties and bouffant pan- 
iers. They may have written, not spoken, "ye meet- 



DINNERS. 311 

ing-house," where we should say " the church ;" possi- 
bly they were a little more demure tban we, but in ev- 
ery generation, in every garb, youth is high-hearted, and 
love is eager, and our grandmothers were only the more 
winsome with their demure looks, and their ways a lit- 
tle coy. 

Here is a letter written sixty years ago by a girl in 
her early bloom. The paper is rough and yellow, but 
is it any more rough and yellow than some of the tinted 
note-sheets of our last invoice from Paris? It is at least 
barred in precisely the same fashion, and must have 
been easier to write on than is much of our smooth and 
slippery elegance, which deceives the pen and repels 
the ink. This letter opens quaintly and didactically 
with dignified reflections on the sweets of friendship, 
and the uncertainty of life ; but the fresh young blood 
bounds anon, and we are presently in the midst of jests, 
and compliments, and blushes, and teasings, and all the 
light artillery of girls. " Go and see mother as often 
as you can," says the merry maiden, spending her first 
winter in the city, "and tell her I never was so wild in 
my life as I now am." It is not the message of an au- 
stere daughter to a grim parent, but surely of love to 
love, on both sides cheerful, happy, sympathetic. 

Nor, on the other hand, do we render our ancestors 
justice when we make their merry-making consist in 
gross and heavy overfeeding. True, they did pile their 
tables high, but with their active outdoor work they 
could not live by bread alone. Life with them was, 
moreover, it must be admitted, rather limited in the 
way of operas, and concerts, and lectures, in the way of 



312 TWELVF MILES FROM A LEMOX. 

easy roads and luxurious carriages. IIow could they 
express their hospitality but by flowing bowls and 
smoking boards? Have we improved so much upon 
them that we dare make a note of it? Ilave we 
wrought all the brittleness out of our houses that we 
dare throw stones at theirs? How many householders 
are there whose first, or at least second thought at the 
advent of a friend is not of what shall we eat, what shall 
we drink? We do not reckon it in ourselves gross or 
vulgar. We set before our friends four or five, or a 
dozen courses, where the family table is amply fur- 
nished with two or three, and is sometimes content with 
one. It is not that we fancy our friends given to ap- 
petite, or that they have come to us for the sake of eat- 
ing and drinking; but we long always in all ways to 
do them honor even be3^ond service, and love is justi- 
fied in ministering even to material wants in its own 
lavish and delicate fashion. It is not profusion, it is 
not even prodigality that makes vulgarity; it is the 
motive which underlies them. In the overabundance 
of our ancestral hospitality shall we find any thing more 
utterly coarse and debasing than our modern custom of 
parading "The Presents" at wedding -feasts? If Em- 
erson says truly, " The only gift is a portion of thyself" 
— who gives of his love the most refined token ; he who 
sets before his friend the fatlings of his own flock, the 
white wheat of his own fields, the dainty viands of his 
own devising, or he who coolly reckons up his own in- 
come, the circumstances of his friend, the degree of their 
acquaintance, and on a mathematical calculation buys a 
plated milk-pitcher of the nearest jeweler, and is mor- 



DINNERS. 313 

tified by seeing "solid silver" appended to his neigh- 
bor's cake-basket in the printed list of presents, while 
his own, being uncharacterized, is open to the dreadful 
suspicion of being — what it is — a sham ? We believe 
that the world has never seen a hospitality more ge- 
nial, more hearty, or even more appropriately express- 
ed, than that which was dispensed, primarily to their 
friends, but practically to all comers, in the spacious 
and plenteous farm-houses of those valiant, tender, man- 
ly, and many-sided men who are known to us mainly 
as stern and somewhat forbidding ancestors. 

But I have got on only so far in my dutiful prepara- 
tions for Thanksgiving as to cut from the newspaper a 
rule for making mince-pies. There I obey Mr. Sum- 
ner's injunction to Mr, Stanton, and "stick." When 
you read the rule, you find so much beef suet, and chop- 
ped stuff, and grated things, and commingling and con- 
fusion, that you lose heart at the outset. For Cinder 
Ella knows naught of mince-pies; and the only advan- 
tage I have over her is that I know one when I see it. 
I have but to sigh, " Mince-pie !" and my angel will 
move heaven and earth ; but she will bring about some 
wonderful combination of fire and flour — raonstrum Jior- 
rendum malformum — which she will set on the table 
triumphantly, and will never suspect that it is not a 
mince-pie of the most straitest sect. I shall know that 
it is incomestibility and indigestibility raised to the 
fourth power; but I shall not know what makes it so. 

No. If mince-pies are indispensable to Thanksgiv- 
ing, I must go into the kitchen myself. I must study 
up the whole subject. I must buy the goods, and su- 

14 



314 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

pcrvisc all their boilings and weighings and flavorings. 
— which things I hate. And after all my trouble I 
shall have on my hands a vast array of viands, which 
•will be to me for a temptation and a torment; for van- 
ity and vexation of spirit and body. 

Is there no way by which I can serve two masters? 
Can I not honor a. godly ancestry without ravaging my 
own domestic peace and personal comfort? To meet 
the duties of filial piet}^, must I sacrifice myself on the 
altar of mince-piety ? If I could buy half a dozen 
mince-pies just to celebrato with! I shall have friends 
enough at my board that day to share the primal curse, 
and we could divide and conquer. But a bake-house 
piel 

"Oil, wliy are bakers made so coarse, 
Or palates made so fine ? 
On pies that might appall a horso 
Shall man be made to dine?" 

CowPEK {ivith variations). 

Why, when the principle of co-operation is fairly dis- 
covered, are we so slow of heart to make the most of 
it? It is cheaper to hire the factory to weave your cal- 
ico than it is to weave it yourself But, also, the fac- 
tory calico is finer and smoother than your home-made. 
It must be cheaper to hire the factory to make your 
mince-pics than to make them yourself But, alas! the 
factory will not make good pies. The crust is sour and 
heavy and hateful ; the body of the pie is tough and 
dry and stringy and lumpy. A miserable pretense, an 
exasperating hypocrisy, is the average bought pie, the 
restaurant pie — 



nmNERS. 815 

"Which none can love, which none can thank, 
Creation's blot — creation's blank." 

So is the " baker's loaf," a liglit, dry, sour shaving, good 
for nothing but to be cast out and trodden under foot 
of men. If there were no such thing as a pie or a loaf 
to be bought, one would take courage and exhort to 
combined action ; but every day or so the bakers' carts 
go jingling by to tell us that the principle of co-opera- 
tion is adopted only to be abused. 

"Pancakes and fritters, 
Say the bells of St. Peter's ; 
Fools and wiseacres, 
Say the bells of the bakers." 

now gladly in the country would we buy all our 
bread, at least through the summer months! and the 
bread peddlers make it as feasible as the city shop — 
make it even more convenient, for they come to our 
very doors; but the bravely labeled carts bring only 
mockery and an inflated chip; so we build our fires 
and heat our houses, with the thermometer already ra- 
ging up into the nineties, for bread we must have, and 
not a stone, even with its specific gravity left out. And 
so, instead of a good genius sending us sweet, light, 
wholesome pies to our own great relief and its reason- 
able profit, an ogre will continue to concoct malevolent 
abominations, and we must turn every peaceful home 
into a toiling, moiling pie-factory on a small, and there- 
fore on an extravagant scale. 

- And yet there is a ray of light. I do not hope whol- 
ly to reconstruct the nation, but might I not insert my 
small wedge into the log? All my neighbors will bo 



816 TWELVE 2IILES FROM A LE.VOX. 

making delicious pios. Suppose L eugnge one of them 
to make me a certain number. Thev Avill be home- 
made pies, and yet tbey will be bought pies. When 
Solomonia is making her own batch, she will hardly 
feel the exertion or the cost of half a dozen more. I 
will otVer her baker's price, or her own if she prefer it, 
and possibly I may inoculate her with a love of trade, 
and she will be permanent pie-maker to my majesty. 
To be sure, I shall be the town-talk for incapacity and 
unthrift ; but think of the " week before Thanksgiving " 
free from suet and the sound of the chopping-knife 
and the dread ordeal of raisin-stoning! Come ridicule, 
scorn, contumclv! I will arise and go to mv neigh- 
bor! 

Ah ! but my neighbor comes to me! and 

"Now gentle galos 
F;uiniug their odoriferous wings ilispcnso 
Native perfumes," 

and all Arabia breathes from yonder basket — Arabia 
and the creamy fatness of New England harvests, 
and the Yule-tide cheer of mcrrie England, and the 
fruits and spices of the Golden Year. Oh, absti- 
nence! where are the charms that sages have seen in 
thy fiice ? 

Peace on earth, good-will to men ! It is the senti- 
ment that nnderlies all feasting, whether we name it the 
Thanksgiving of the sons or the Christmas of the fo- 
thers, whether we celebrate it with song and dance or 
psalm and prayer. 

With wars many, and disasters many, with battle, 
and murder, and sudden death, we arc often and again 



tempted to think that there is no peace on earth, and 
that the heavens bear an ill-will to men. Our holidays 
arc clouded with the smoke of a burning city, of vil- 
lages laid waste, of a land desolate and death-smitten. 
Peace on earth, good-will to men, with hundreds of 
families swept out upon a winter prairie, homeless by 
night, homeless through bitter months? Good-will to 
the aged and the sick, to women and little children 
rushing through burning woods from a devouring flame? 
Good-will to friends forever separated and desolate, to 
little ones suddenly orphaned, and mothers bereaved, 
and men robbed in a moment of the fruits of lifelong 
love and toil? Peace on an earth plundered of beauty 
and dignity, and doomed to ashes and ruin ? Yes, peace 
on earth, good-will to men, in spite of fire and flood. 
Nay, the little one has not forgotten the thrill of that 
wonderful hour when the sorrow of Chicago came pul- 
sating over the land. One moment of stunned and 
speechless shock, and then the world moved. From 
the scattered hamlet under the hill, from the teeming 
cities beyond the sea, rang one voice of sympathy and 
succor. The ruin of Chicago was great, but of all the 
flames fed on, nothing was so priceless as that which 
rose up out of the flame — the stately, stainless flower of 
human sympathy, of universal brotherhood. 

But "ah !" sighs Fastidia, born under the shadow of 
Boston State-house, and with the intensest pride of Bos- 
ton quickening all her bright blood, while she berates it 
with a lover's fond abuse. " It is all very well for a dap- 
per little city, pert and upstart like Chicago, to be burn- 
ed ; but staid old Boston!" And indeed it does seem 



818 TWELVE MILES FliOJf A LEJUON. 

an unparalleled audacity. That the flame should lick 
along the streets of the Hancocks, and the Otises, and 
the Thayers, and the Appletons as greedily as if they 
were but vulgar paths, this indeed may well spread dis- 
may. But if vStaid Boston will discard ancestral sense, 
and rear its roofs of pine and paper, the destroying an- 
gel will not stay his hand for the storied names of yes- 
terday, nor even for the solid men of to-day. Yet to 
all the living, peace and good-will! Christmas has to 
all one song, if our ears can only be attuned to the sing- 
ing. Better than granite piles — especially with tarred 
roofs above them — is the energy that built them, the 
spirit that survives them. On Saturday a man was 
rich, and increased in goods, and had need of nothing — 
enriched by his own sagacity and industry. On Sun- 
day the fire has swept him back to the starting-point of 
his youth. " Will you shake hands with a poor man ?" 
is bis undaunted greeting. On Monday he is off to be- 
gin life anew, 

"All night long the noise of battle rolled" — the bat- 
tle between human power and elemental force. All 
the long, bright autumn Sundav, the sweet, serene In- 
dian summer da}'-, the smoke of that fierce fight rose and 
rolled, column upon column, stretching across the wide, 
level horizon, heaping up beauty for the brilliant sun- 
set; through the plains below us the telegraph wires 
were flashing tidings, calls, responses, orders, and over 
the long lines of railroads from all quarters dashed the 
laden trains, bearing eager crowds. " Poor old Bos- 
ton!" "Dear old Boston!" we sighed with heavy hearts, 
forgetting all her pride, and remembering only her 



DnmnRS. 319 

peril ; yet most pathetic of all, unspeakably touching 
and tearful, was the far, faint sound of Boston bells call- 
ing through the second midnight for help in her deadly 
need. And how nobly help came ! From North and 
South, from near and far, men rushed to the rescue, nor 
were there wanting those who dared to die. Shall we 
fail in holiday greetings? Shall we distrust peace on 
earth ? Shall we doubt the coming of new and golden 
years while thus, even now, their feet are beautiful upon 
the mountains? 

The best things of this world are imperishable. En- 
ergy, resolution, courage, a dauntless persistence — fire 
can not destroy them. Gentleness, unselfishness, ten- 
derness, magnanimity — floods can not overwhelm them. 
In order to have happy festivals, it is not necessary to 
transact affairs in a five-story warehouse with marble 
facings. lie alone holds a happiness worth the having 
who holds the trust of those who live with him. Whose 
click at the gate is music, whose voice at the door is 
solace, whose face at the fireside is rest, whose presence 
everywhere is sunshine — he it is to whom Christmas 
is truly the Christ-day, whose year is ever happy and 
ever new. To you — for it is you I mean, oh gentle and 
friendly reader, I proffer heart-felt salutations. As sim- 
ple, as noble, you do not suspect what strength goes in 
the clasp of your hand, what force, and sustenance, and 
good cheer are voiced in your welcoming words! It is 
you who make life sweet and wholesome. It is you 
who soften the rigors of its inevitable frosts, who tem- 
per its raging heats, and moisten its parched noondays 
with the dew-drops of the morning. To you, thought- 



320 TWELVE MILES FROM A LEMON. 

ful and grateful husband, wise and sustaining wife, 
pleasant and steadfast friend, upright and honorable in 
all things, in love and life alike tried and sure, to you 
I give glad greetings of the sacred and merry Christ- 
mas, and the fruitful, fair New Year. 



THE END, 



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